


Diluviate

by maddening



Series: The Flood [1]
Category: Dragon Age
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-07-23
Updated: 2012-07-23
Packaged: 2017-11-10 13:38:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/466914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maddening/pseuds/maddening
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the flood comes it sweeps some things away and leaves others in its wake. How Marian Hawke and Alistair Theirin come to know each other.</p><p>M for language and violence. Timeline altered and heavily altered events, OCs, and post DA II events.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Summons

**Author's Note:**

> (Usual Disclaimer: Everything that's recognizable belongs to BioWare. All that stuff that reeks of "whaaaat? That didn't happen!" is mine.)
> 
> I had a hard time finding any explorations of possible Hawke/Alistair relationships that weren't pretty short and sweet and simple. So I decided to just write one. I've truncated events in Kirkwall to something around 5 years instead of 10 and set Alistair's first meeting with Hawke in Act II instead of Act III. This was also written in one long go, without chapter breaks. So those are being inserted and broken out as I post them, which is why they're sometimes wildly different lengths.

Hawke was sitting at her desk shuffling through the stack of correspondence she’d received that day, stretching her neck and back to loosen muscles still taught from her late night of seemingly endless spelunking through the ridiculously hollow Kirkwall coast. The well wishes from people she only half remembered were the hardest to deal with, usually. Everyone else wanted something – either help or to divest of her of her money through ridiculously transparent schemes – but these people wanted to thank her. She had to struggle to remember the names and events that might have put this person in her path and then inexplicably plucked them away from the destruction that she left in her wake. She didn’t feel like she saved many people or that anyone should be thanking her. Adding in that she never remembered names – often too fueled by adrenaline to do so anyway but also never grasping that particular social nicety once she was in Kirkwall and was expected to actually remember and interact with people – well the whole thing made her feel terrible.

After the hard to read letters were some requests for assistance and a few rumor reports from Varric’s runners and shipping notices, bills, invoices, and other necessities of keeping up the house to mother’s standards. These she would pass off to Bodahn since she refused to let him grovel and clean and instead used his fine merchant mind to keep her household books in order.

At the bottom of the pile, having arrived very early that morning while she was still out mopping up another slaver den was a note that looked hastily scratched out and was much shorter than the customary letters she received which gave her a ridiculous number of titles and started with all manner of praise, grandiose pronouncements about her prowess or intelligence, and other assorted horseshit. She read it and then read it again – it had to be a joke, right?

 

_Dear Marian Hawke,_

_Please meet me in the Keep._

_-King Alistair of Ferelden_

 

Surely one of Aveline’s guards was playing with her or maybe Varric was having some kind of laugh. Or someone else even, expecting her to show off her “Ferelden-ness” at being summoned by the King for some sort of poor machination or joke. She’d certainly been jerked around by people in Kirkwall enough to expect something of that sort but… well it seemed rather bold and transparent.

After staring at the letter and reading it yet again, as if there was some hidden meaning she could glean but that just hadn’t become apparent yet, she rose from her desk and went out to the balcony. Bodahn appeared promptly when called, bowing in that manner she’d practically begged him to stop doing while she descended the stairs toward him.

“Yes, Messere?”

“Bodahn, who delivered this message?,” she asked as she handed it over to him and watched him look across it. “One of the Viscount’s messengers delivered it this morning, Messere, along with the other request from the Viscount, which was sealed.”

She’d seen the sealed request – another request to talk to the Arishok on behalf of the city about… something or other. She’d stopped paying too much attention to the nature of the requests because the Arishok invariably already knew anything she’d be sent there to talk about and was usually far more helpful than that weasel Seneshal Brann or the Viscount himself. The Arishok was taciturn, difficult, riddlesome, but blessedly blunt – a quality Hawke appreciated immensely.

“This request wasn’t sealed? Just three lines, no seal?”

“Just so, Messere.”

“Bodahn, would you be willing to come with me to the Keep to honor this request? I can’t believe that the king would request my presence at all and you travelled with him and the Hero during the blight, so you’d know far better than I what he actually looks like.”

“I’d be pleased to acquiesce to any request you have for me, Messere, as I am, after all your humble manservant.”




“Thank you, Bodahn. Allow me to change and we’ll go shortly.”

Turning to head back up the steps, she was stopped short by her mother who had a hopeful, eager look on her face.

“You were really summoned by the King? King Alistair requested you personally?”

“It would appear so, mother. Would you like to come with me? I have a feeling that I’m utterly out of my depth here.”

“No, dear, as much as I would love to see you received by royalty, it wouldn’t be proper. He summoned you alone by name. I’d argue against taking Bodahn except that it is totally appropriate to take a personal attendant.”

“Mother, don’t encourage Bodahn in his servitude. I didn’t ask for it and, while I do appreciate his management of the household, his refusal to take payment chafes at me. It means I’m keeping a slave and I can’t stand that.”

“He’s not a slave, dear, he’s pledged his service to you. Why you can’t accept that for the gift that it is I will never understand.” Leandra sighed and placed her hand on her obstinate daughter’s cheek. “But go, get yourself ready for your audience with the king and please put on a dress and not your armor. You are not a warrior, you are a lady being summoned to the keep and the King will expect you to look like a lady, not some ruffian.”

Hawke bit back at the natural reply to this which was that she was indeed a ruffian and not a lady at all and wouldn’t it be better to be honest. “I have other things to do in the city today, mother. And besides, haven’t you always claimed it’s best to be honest?”

Leandra huffed at her daughter’s smirk and twinkling eyes, but there was no rancor in it. “Yes dear, I’m sure you know best.”

Hawke ascended the stairs and gave herself a quick wash, making sure she didn’t have any remnants of blood or filth on any visible portions. She was sure it was her imagination but slavers seemed to bleed more than just about any other man or beast she’d fought. Or Fenris tore through them with such fury that their blood and bits just splattered further. It was hard to say. While she dressed she smiled at the thought of Fenris in battle and the stark difference between him in that setting with his determined and stony cold face, his occasional screams of pure anger, the feral way he tore through groups of armed attackers and Fenris at ease, sipping wine, face placid and filled with flirtatious humor. Remembering their most recent private conversation made her feel a little flushed. “There are few pleasures greater than speaking to a beautiful woman,” said with that smirk, leaned forward, voice dropped to a lower, rumbling timbre that plucked at her in a way she couldn’t describe. Flirting with Fenris felt both more dangerous and more satisfying that flirting with anyone else had ever been. And flirting was something she was very comfortable with. It got her deals, it opened doors, and it eased a lot of the trickier points of being an armed female who needed to get things done. And she never did it maliciously or with ill intent. The last thing she needed was someone feeling lead on or jilted because she let a little banter go too far.

Despite her mother’s protests, she strapped on her well worn, well fitted leather armor. Would she _need_ shin guards and vambraces? Most likely not. Would she simply feel more comfortable wearing them? Absolutely. She’d take the time to do her hair and put on a dress when her mother insisted, but if she were going to the Keep to potentially walk into a trap – or worse, an actual meeting with Royalty – she wanted to be as at-ease as possible and as prepared as she could be.

She met Bodahn in the foyer and asked him and her mother if there was some protocol to this like if she was expected to curtsey or kiss his ring or come bearing gifts.

“A curtsey would be appropriate, as would a bow. Don’t you dare go grabbing for his hands to kiss them. His guards would probably tackle you if you tried to touch him.”

Bodahn piped up and said “I’m not sure how your customs are, but I do remember that the young man quite liked cheese if you were going to bring a gift.”

Hawke couldn’t tell if Bodahn was putting her on. “Cheese? You’re suggesting I just hand over a hunk of cheese to the King?”

Bodahn smiled placidly and shrugged “I do not know your customs so it may not be a good idea, but he certainly did enjoy his cheese.”

“Well, that’s a thought. Okay, right, well, I’m off then. Wish me luck, mother,” Hawke leaned over to kiss her mother on the cheek before the two of them headed out. Instead of going directly toward the Keep, which the house was situated at the very foot of, she veered instead to the market, deciding to throw caution to the wind and bring the King a gift.

She asked the stall keeper to put together a sampler of what he considered to be their finest selections, since she knew nothing at all about cheese except that some was okay to eat when it was blue and some was not and that she was a little appalled at ever having to actually learn the difference. Cheese to her came in a block, was a little strong and chalky, and was best had with some kind of fruit and fresh bread. It was usually a milky color, sometimes closer to yellow or orange and anything else was probably spoiled, so why bother? The cheese stall proprietor was more than happy to babble at her about cheese names and accompaniments, some of which she took note of, but most of which completely floated happily over her head. She asked that he package them all up in a basket or bag, something that would keep for a while, while she grabbed a few other items. She also picked up a few apples and a bunch of grapes as well as some quince jam, which the cheese stall owner said was particularly good with one of the items he was packing for her. While the owner had told her that thin wafer crackers were best with these kinds of cheeses, she just couldn’t wrap her head around handing a bundle of dry crusty bits of bread to the King.

All her other purchases secured, she swung back to the cheese shop for the actually very lovely basket the proprietor had put together for her for what she felt was an exorbitant price and, having another thought, swung back past home. If she was going to do something this ridiculous, she was going to go all out.

Her mother was surprised to see her back, but Hawke just held up a hand to forestall any questions and continued her march through to the kitchen where she picked up a loaf of bread that her mother had baked that morning. It was still fragrant, though no longer warm. It smelled warm and homey and right to her somehow. She tucked it along with the fruit and the jam in among the cheese basket, covering it all with one of her mother’s embroidered tea towels. Her mother, as she headed back out the door, shook her head and looked embarrassed but didn’t stop her. Leandra had learned long ago that her daughter was going to do whatever she wanted to do. She also knew that there was little she couldn’t charm her way out of, so even if it was ridiculous to give the King of Ferelden a picnic lunch, there would be some explanation she’d dream up that would seem perfectly reasonable.

Heading through the doors of the Keep, there were certainly more guards than usual throughout the main chamber and up along the balcony that held the Viscount’s office. The note hadn’t said where in the keep she could expect to meet the king, so she just went to wherever there were more guards, figuring that there would be a heavier contingent directly around the king. This happened to be the Viscount’s office.

As she approached, wending through local and foreign guards like they were purposefully making an odd little obstacle course of the steps, she was accosted by a feminine hand in her face and Seneschal Brann’s snide, nasal voice.

“The Viscount is in a meeting and cannot be disturbed by anyone, especially you, Messere Hawke.”

Hawke looked around to see if any of the guard was listening – none of them were obviously paying attention - and so she cleared her throat and spoke in a loud and clear voice that she knew would carry well – “oh no, Brann – I came to see you personally. Our mutual friend told me about the awful rash you picked up at the docks and I just wanted to make sure you were doing alright. I’d be happy to reorder the salve for you at any time if the problem rears its ugly head again.” The guards were definitely listening now. “Oh! I almost forgot, I also came to see King Alistair. I received a note asking me to appear here for an audience with him.”

Brann, red faced now with that eye twitch he got when Hawke managed to get under his skin in just the right way choked out, still in his haughty tone – impressive that he could hold onto it so well –  “Really? The King asked you here? You’re sure about that?” Bodahn stepped forward and produced the note with a flourish and then stepped back again with precision. It occurred to Hawke then that perhaps Bodahn actually enjoyed playing the officious little manservant role. Brann checked it over skeptically and heaved a sigh. “You will wait here,”he bit out, in the tone of a threat more than an order.  He ducked through the office doors and Hawke bounced on the balls of her feet, arms swinging, looking around at the guards.

When Brann returned several minutes later, she was in the midst of a conversation with one of the King’s guards, trying to determine if the King really did like cheese or not, but the man had been no help at all in that department. Brann was quickly followed by a taller man with coppery blonde hair cropped short except for one braid that ran from his crown and was tucked behind one ear. He sported a neat goatee the same color as his hair.  His clothes were of noble cut but he had a ready smile and kind eyes. Brann introduced him as Bann Teagan, the King’s advisor for this trip.

Bann Teagan held out his hand to Hawke and she took it as if to shake it but he bowed low over her hand and brushed his lips across her knuckles. “Lady Hawke,” he said as he rose, smiling, “I trust you haven’t been kept waiting for long, His Majesty was most eager to meet you. He’s just finishing his meeting with the Viscount and he wanted me to ensure that you were comfortable while we waited.” Before Hawke could say anything in response, he gestured toward a small vestibule with chairs just around the corner and offered her his arm.

It was the oddest greeting she’d had in her entire life and she had no idea what to do except just go along with it. She tucked her hand into his elbow and allowed herself to be lead to a chair. Teagan took the chair opposite her and seemed to be nothing but pleased to see and meet her. Bodahn took up a stiff at-attention position well behind her chair. After a few beats when she realized she should probably speak, she finally managed “Thank you for your greeting, Bann Teagan. But please, no one here actually refers to me as “Lady Hawke”. It’s just “Hawke”. My mother’s family is noble to their roots, but I was raised far away from that sort of fanfare and it hasn’t really taken hold.”

 

Teagan laughed good naturedly, “Well in that case we can dispense with the titles altogether. Call me Teagan, please.”

“Well, now that we’ve figured out what to call each other, can you tell me why exactly I’ve been asked here by the King of Ferelden? I’m hardly well-known there – I’m closer to infamous here, to be honest, and only in certain circles. I can’t imagine what his Majesty might have to say to me.”

Teagan beamed again, and Hawke had the impression he had made it his life’s goal to be the most affable man in Thedas. “His Majesty has had a keen interest in Kirkwall for several years since so many of Ferelden’s refugees ended up in the Free Marches and Kirkwall specifically. There is also, of course, a vested interest in strengthening relations between nations. While keeping a finger on the pulse of activities here your name arose more than once, though most accounts were… a little difficult to decipher.”

Hawke laughed and relaxed slightly – this was about Varric’s tall tales and that was easy enough to deal with. “Teagan, you can’t listen to stories in Kirkwall – especially anything having to do with me. A friend of mine is something of a story teller and… if I’m being kind, I would say that sometimes things get exaggerated.”

“And if you weren’t being kind?”

“Then I’d say he outright lies.”

Teagan seemed delighted by this, smiling and chuckling appreciatively.

“Well, regardless of the relative truth of it, we do know that you’ve managed in just a few years to go from Ferelden refugee to living in an old manor home with your family’s titles restored on the back of your own work. You’ve also become something of a hero to the other refugees here in the city and we know that you’ve been generous with coin and time. That is reason alone for His Majesty’s interest. I’m sure the story we heard about you taking on an entire army of Tevinter Magisters who breathed fire and summoned waves of demons to dog your efforts was just icing on the cake.”

Hawke shook her head at that, grinning “I hadn’t heard the fire breathing bit. In truth it was a group of 8 slavers in a single cave with one magister and he only summoned a few demons.”

Teagan shook his own head at that “Oh is that all then? Just a few demons?” He laughed a little as if at some private joke. “Yes I think you and His Majesty will get along just fine. Let me just go now and see if his meeting is at an end and find a suitable location within the Keep for you to talk. I won’t be but a moment.”

Teagan set off to the Viscount’s office and Hawke twisted around in her chair to look at Bodahn, “Have I made an idiot of myself yet?”

“Not at all, Messere.”

“Somehow I think you’re just placating me, Bodahn.”

Bodahn managed to look scandalized, utterly sincere, and impish at the same time “Perish the thought, Messere.”

Hawke narrowed her eyes at him by way of reply and he simply stared back at her placidly, silly manservant smile unwavering.

She didn’t have long to wait, the sound of the approaching King was heralded by a great clanking of armor. The King must have a permanent headache from the constant noise of his guard clattering around behind him. Hawke was suddenly more nervous than she’d ever been. The King of Ferelden was more frightening than the Arishok in her mind - mainly because her mother would never berate her with questions about her manners after talking to the Arishok. When the contingent rounded the corner, Teagan was chatting with the man who was obviously King. Assuming she should stand for this, Hawke rose from her chair but didn’t know what to do with her hands and after a few false starts – on hips? Too petulant; at your sides? Too casual;  behind your back? Too shifty- ended up lacing her fingers together and letting her hands hang in front of her, schooling her features into something she felt was neutral.

The King stood even taller than Teagan and was wearing just as much plate armor as any of his guard. He seemed impossibly huge, shoulders wider than most of his guards, chest broad, a golden halo of hair crowning a handsome face with bright soft brown eyes, a chiseled jaw, and a strong nose set above a mouth that was currently quirked into a smirk that managed to look natural and well humored instead of snide. The only thing that Hawke could think was that she was being put on – that someone had gone out and put together and incredibly elaborate hoax for no discernible purpose and managed to find a man to play the part of king who looked like something out of an Orlesian romance novel.

Then, memories floated up of Cailan, who she saw a glimpse of at Ostegar in his golden armor. Both Maric and Cailan had been similarly handsome and golden and swooned over and the family resemblance was clear. It made Hawke wish she still had some Ferelden coin so she could compare the profile in front of her to those of Marric and Cailan that graced the coins she’d last seen.

Teagan led the contingent to where Hawke stood and gestured at her as the guards and their stomping came to a stop. “Your Majesty, may I present Marian Hawke.” And there it was. No escaping it now. Hawke knew she should curtsey but she was suddenly stuck in place, confronted with this huge wall of handsome and important. Thankfully the king saved her by extending a hand, which she took to shake and much to her her relief he did not turn it and kiss it. That earned the king a pointed look from Teagan, but Hawke immediately felt more comfortable not being treated like a noblewoman.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Messere Hawke. As Teagan may have told you, we have heard quite a bit about you while gathering information before our visit and actually quite a bit more since arriving. The Viscount in particular was very complimentary regarding the assistance you’ve been able to provide him personally in dealing with the Qunari in the city. “

“Thank you, your Majesty, but please, it’s just “Hawke”, there’s no need for honorifics. Teagan did tell me a little about why you might have requested this audience. Uh… well... I guess when a King makes it it’s not really a request is it? Or does that only apply in your home country? For instance – if I got a note from Empress Celene telling me to pop around for tea, would I need to consider that a royal summons or just a friendly invitation from a foreign dignitary? … And I’m officially rambling. I’m sorry, your Majesty.” Hawke was mortified. She’d somehow become Merrill for just a second there.

Alistair just smiled more broadly at Hawke’s tangent “Well, it was a request, but don’t tell Celene I said that the next time you’re nibbling little cucumber sandwiches with her. I’m not sure she’d agree.”

Hawke felt a wave of relief wash over her. Humor she could work with – this might not be so bad after all. “I’ll try to keep it just between the two of us, your Majesty, but I’m disturbingly easy to bribe so I make no promises.”

Alistair grinned at that “Oh really? And what is your personal weakness?”

“I’m sorry, your Majesty, but I’m afraid I’d require a bribe to tell you. It’s a tricky circular kind of thing.”

That earned an outright guffaw from the King. Hawke felt mildly proud of herself.

Teagan was smiling but there was an edge in his voice when he interrupted – Hawke got the sense that this kind of bantering could go on all day if Teagan wasn’t there to step in. “Your Majesty, perhaps we can set up a room for you to talk? The Viscount has offered his office, for instance.”

Hawke interrupted here “Actually, your Majesty, talking in the Viscount’s office would be… well it would be uncomfortable, really. For me, if not for you. I can assure you that you needn’t remember anything that you spoke with the Viscount about because it has been thoroughly cataloged and recorded by whichever pasty spy he has hiding in his walls today.” Here Hawke leaned in conspiratorily “I always like to imagine that it’s Seneshal Brann stuck in there, feeling underappreciated and dejected while he scribbles his notes.”

Teagan looked somewhat taken aback, but Alistair himself just continued to look bemused. “I would suggest, actually, going to the Guard Captain’s office.”

Alistair got a curious look “Why would the Guard Captain’s office be better?”

“Because the Guard Captain was one of the King’s Army at Ostegar, and would, first of all, be very happy to meet you, but also be more than willing to keep anyone well away from the door. Using her own fists as deterrents if necessary. Maybe even if it isn’t necessary.”

“Well, then lead on, Hawke,” Alistair said, gesturing her forward instead of offering his arm as Teagan had done, which earned another look from Teagan that the King either didn’t see or chose not to acknowledge. Hawke glanced back to ensure that Bodahn was following with their basket for the king. Not that she need have worried. He looked solemn and austere like he was carrying something of great importance and wealth and not just a basket of semi-stinky cheese. Hawke lead them across the gallery to the barracks, and was thankful when the city guards made room for the King’s Guards and only gawked a little. Hawke rapped on the Guard Captain’s door and waited for the gruff “Enter” before swinging the door open.

“Aveline! I have a visitor for you!”

“Oh, Maker Hawke, what is it this time? “ Aveline groused without looking up from her desk.

“King Alistair is here to take over your office, you don’t mind, right?”

Aveline snapped her head up and immediately went the deepest shade of crimson ever seen on a face in the history of faces. She shot to her feet and then immediately fell into a kneeled position, head down in fealty.

Alistair waved his hands at her as if he was embarrassed “Please, Guard Captain, rise, there’s no need for that. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Hawke said you were at Ostegar as part of the King’s Army.”

“Yes, your Majesty. It is an honor to meet you. What happened at Ostegar was a great tragedy.”

Alistair’s face fell into a very somber state. He was clearly still aggrieved by the events at Ostegar, “Thank you, Guard Captain, and yes, I quite agree. Thankfully the man responsible for that tragedy has paid for his crimes. It will never erase the losses the country suffered there, but it may at least be a start in putting to rights everything that was lost during the Blight.”

Aveline still only glanced at the king, eyes mostly averted as if looking at him directly might lead to heavy censure or perhaps the hand of the Maker smiting her where she stood. “If I may ask, your Majesty, what brings you to Kirkwall?”

“We’re exploring strengthening our relations throughout the Free Marches and are meeting with city-state leaders and stewards wherever possible. I’ve been told that the first few years of a king’s reign are crucial for setting up these long-term alliances and have rarely been in Denerim at all, truth be told, a situation I have no complaints about.”

Teagan cleared his throat at that. “Yes, Teagan, giving away too much, shouldn’t speak my mind after all, I’m just the King.” Alistair had a rueful look on his face – this was obviously a conversation he’d had many times.

“Aveline, would it be okay with you if the king took over your office for a short time? I hate to shoo you away but outside of dragging him to my own home, which I can’t imagine would be appropriate – though wouldn’t my mother adore that -  I can’t think of a more suitable place to talk.”

Aveline replied smoothly, composure regained, “Absolutely, Hawke, I was just about to check on Noodle and how his training with the guards was going anyway. Please, feel free to use my office as long as you need.” Aveline bowed again to the king and to Teagan as she took her leave, the King’s guards parting for her.

“Noodle? Did I hear her correctly? What in blazes is Noodle?” Alistair looked amused but confused.

“Ah, well, Noodle is my mabari. He trains Aveline’s guards. Or, as she puts it, teaches them healthy respect. Even in our new estate and with frequent walks, Kirkwall really isn’t the place for a mabari used to running the moors and wilds. So Aveline has him 3 or 4 times a week to chase down screaming men and women. He enjoys it.”

“Hah! I imagine he does. But Noodle? That is the oddest name for a Mabari I’ve ever heard. And the Hero of Ferelden called hers “Xerxes”. So add that to the list of stories I’d like to hear.”

Hawke grinned “It’s not that interesting your Majesty. But please, have a seat, arrange your guard however you like and we’ll talk. I don’t know how any of you even move in that armor, let alone stand around in it chatting.”

Alistair took his seat, sending the guard out along with Teagan when his eyes landed on Bodahn for the first time. “Bodahn! That is you isn’t it? What on Thedas are you doing here?”

“Hello, your Majesty. Bodahn Feddic at your service. It’s good to see you well. May I express my condolences about your Grey Warden companion. She is certainly missed. As for why I am here, well, Messere Hawke saved my boy Sandal while we were all in the Deep Roads and then allowed my boy to stay in her home once we’d returned. It’s all an ugly story, but without another way to compensate her for her kindness, I pledged my service to her as her faithful manservant.”

Alistair looked a little stunned and shook his head, “Maker! I’m going to need a longer sheet of parchment for this list of stories, I see.”

“Yes, well, I think Bodahn just covered most of it. He did leave out the part where I told him I didn’t need or want a manservant and that he and Sandal were welcome to stay regardless. He also left out my nearly daily and sometimes hourly begging for him to please stop calling me Messere and to allow me to pay him for his service. He is absolutely the most stubborn Dwarf I’ve ever met.” Hawke narrowed her eyes at Bodahn, who coughed lightly and gestured with his eyebrows and a little head tilt at the basket he still carried.

“OH! Your Majesty, I forgot...” Hawke began, but was interrupted. “Please, in private, just call me Alistair. If I had my way no one would call me Majesty at all, but at least in private I can have this one thing my way.”

“Well then, of course, Alistair.” Hawke smiled. Handsome, Funny, willing to laugh at her stupid jokes, and humble to boot. No one would ever believe her. She waved Bodahn over and he presented the king with the basket as Hawke explained. “After I saw your note I realized I didn’t know what protocol there was in meeting a king and Bodahn said you liked cheese. So I went to the market and put together a little basket for you. I hope what’s included is to your liking. Most of the accompaniments were the recommendations of the shop owner, though the bread is from my own kitchen. My mother baked it this morning so it should be fresh.”

Alistair was already picking through the basket and breaking off bits of cheese, popping them in his mouth, before she was even finished. “This is amazing! Best greeting gift I’ve ever gotten. I’ve never seen Orlesian Brie outside of Orlais before and the stinky Roquefort here is perfectly stinky indeed. This is very thoughtful.”

Hawke felt the rest of her tension flee at that. That was the last potential hiccup as far as she was concerned. Cheese basket accepted, she could just focus on answering questions and talking. Talking was never a problem for Hawke. While the king continued to munch on grapes and tear off hunks of bread – the man was eating like he was starved - Hawke continued.

“I’m glad to hear it. I wasn’t sure if I would look ridiculous handing over a basket of snacks but I was willing to risk it.”

Bodahn, seeming to sense that his presence was no longer required, bowed, “If that is all Messere Hawke, I will return to the estate to tend to your mother.”

“You mean you’ll return to the estate to report back to her about how many social faux pas I’ve made since we walked through the door to the Keep, right?”

“If Lady Amell were to ask, it would be my duty to tell her, Messere.”

Alistair’s head snapped up at that, but he continued to just chew thoughtfully while Hawke finished talking to Bodahn. “Yes, I’m sure it would be, Bodahn. And mother never gives you grief about your incessant use of titles. I know you favor her, it’s okay, fly away little spy,” Hawke intoned with a voice that sounded sad and put upon, but couldn’t hide her smirk and Bodahn was smiling back at her with that little twinkle in his eye as he bowed again to them both and left.

Alistair had watched the end of this exchange with a quirk of humor to his features “Is that, uhm… normal, between the two of you?”

“What, you mean the bickering?”

Alistair nodded and Hawke smiled “Absolutely. At first I thought it was one level of subservience that he used all the time but I came to understand that Bodahn is sarcastic about half the time he speaks. Why we keep up the charade, I have no idea, but maybe he just feels bored otherwise. I imagine it’s terribly dull being my steward. My companions come and go and are rarely a bother to anyone but me, mother’s needs are simple, and really the biggest problem is Sandal occasionally swinging from the chandelier or creating an enchantment that backfires and causes some level of damage.”

Alistair nods thoughtfully, “Hmmm, yes, I remember his enchantments being… powerful.” Alistair trailed off talking for a moment and seemed to be thinking. “So – I need to ask… your mother is Lady Amell? Is there any relation to the Hero of Ferelden?”

Hawke laughed at that. “Your spies are paid too much if they haven’t been able to get even that bit of information, Alistair. Yes, I’m the daughter of Leandra Amell and Malcolm Hawke. The Amell family was originally from Kirkwall but one of mother’ cousin’s moved to Ferelden in the midst of the scandalous fact that Solona, their daughter, was found to be a mage. They were at least thoughtful enough to abscond to a country with a more humane circle before turning her over. Magic has always run in the Amell family as has extreme piety – which means that a great many Amells have ended up in circle towers as soon as their magic manifests. It was only scandalous this time because my grandfather was about to claim the Viscount’s seat.”

Alistair nodded, but didn’t interrupt. He had never heard anything about Solona’s family and wanted to know anything he could.

Hawke continued, “Unfortunately, if you’re hoping for more information about Solona, I’m not a help to you. I never knew her, but did meet her parents once. They seemed nice enough, as far as “nice” might apply to the type of people who would turn you in to the Templars without a second thought.” Hawke noted and attempted to correct the clear bitterness in her voice as that last bit came out. “ I went with mother alone because of it. I was around 12 at the time. Solona had already been at the tower for several years at that point. From what I understand she manifested her magic very early, earlier than most mages.”

Hawke went quiet then, thinking about that cousin she hadn’t known and the way it must have felt… having magic and being turned in like something unwanted. Bethanny, at least, had never endured that.

“You know, Alistair, I’m surprised that you haven’t sought out this information before. From what mother has told me, Solona’s parents are still alive and living in Ferelden somewhere, though the blight scattered everyone so we can’t be sure where exactly they’ve settled now. Solona probably didn’t have much memory of them, of course, but they wouldn’t be difficult to track down. “

Alistair continued to look somber, “Well, I have a bit of a bad track record with hunting down family. Frankly, I was a bit scared of what I might find. And I don’t have spies at all despite what you might think. I’ve never been very good at all that sneaky business. “

Hawke shook her head, “Well then that’s something we’ll have to rectify for you. I mean, even *I* have access to a spy network that I trust. Surely the king of an entire country should as well. I can guarantee that every noble in your country has at least one spy on their payroll working in your palace. And that many of them have spies working in the households of other noble families. I know it’s unsavory, and I wouldn’t suggest going that far – but you need to know what’s going on in other countries at least. I’m sure your advisors would agree and if they don’t then you also need new advisors”

Alistair laughed, “That sure of your correctness are you?”

“Absolutely”, and Hawked beamed a full, toothy smile at him. She was actually really enjoying talking to the King of Ferelden. Not just tolerating. Enjoying. And the big smile and ruddy cheeks of his face seemed to indicate that he was enjoying it too. How would she ever explain this to Varric?

Hawke tried valiantly to get the subject back around to something neutral so that she didn’t overstep something and come across as if she was flirting. Now was not the time to turn on that particular facet of things. She didn’t need information, she didn’t need to haggle down a price, and she didn’t need to put someone on their heels and confuse them. Flirting was not appropriate in the situation, no matter how tempting it might be. She rarely had the opportunity to ply her charms on someone so… worth the effort. “So, not to change the subject entirely, Alistair, but what did you actually hope to accomplish in Kirkwall? While I know little of the political landscape in Ferelden, I might be able to provide a city-eye view of anything that might be important here.”

Alistair also seemed to sober, clearing his throat, “Well, I have concerns about the circle and the Templars here as well as the Qunari. While they’ve apparently been quiet so far, I can’t imagine that will last. “

Hawke thought about her response for only a moment. “It won’t last. And… I think the Viscount may have been misleading. I wouldn’t call the Qunari quiet. They’ve been far more reasonable than they were expected to be, certainly. And honestly, far more reasonable than I think they should be at this point. But it is not because they haven’t been provoked. It isn’t common knowledge, but elements within the city – especially within the chantry – have gone out of their way to provoke the Arishok. He’s displeased and has hinted on a few occasions that he’d rather just raze the city than deal with our ways.”

Alistair popped up from his seat and began slowly pacing. He was clearly one of those who liked to puzzle out situations while moving. “If he hates being here, why has he been here all this time? That’s what I don’t understand. It’s hardly in their nature to simply hang about like this.”

“The Arishok is not what I’d call forthcoming, however, from what I’ve been able to get out of him it’s clear that he’s being kept here because something was stolen from him, something he must regain before he can return to Par Vollen. Let me tell you, that man can sneer like he invented the facial expression. He’s getting angrier by the day and the more extremist elements in the city continue to push. The Viscount means well, I’m sure, but his inaction and unwillingness to censure those who are responsible for those provocations is only going to end in destruction and bloodshed. I understand his fear of the Chantry, but he gives them far too much power. The Grand Cleric, Elthina, is not a rabble rouser. She’s civil and thoughtful. She would listen to reason and she would do everything she could to stop those fringe elements under her charge from continuing. But the Viscount has done nothing to stop it. “

Alistair had a hand to his chin while he listened, eyes far away, processing this information. “The Viscount said that the Arishok asked for you by name recently and that you’ve become something of the diplomatic envoy to Qunari. “

“I don’t know if I’d go that far. At this point, I’m an errand girl. But it seems that no one else in the city, especially the Viscount, is currently willing to deal with them. It has to fall to someone and so far that someone has been me. I don’t think I’ve made anything worse yet, but that’s as much as I can boast about my diplomatic skills.”

Alistair nodded and sighed, “Sounds about where I stand. I count myself lucky if I manage to get out of most meetings without having to apologize for something I did, said, didn’t say, didn’t do, or may have implied with some type of facial expression. “

Hawke smiled again “Ah well I’m sure it’s not that bad, you’ve been perfectly charming since I’ve met you at least.” The king shot her a thankful smile. “At this point, the Arishok is putting up with me. I spend far too much time in their compound or dealing with his Karastaan and I’m sure that my never ending questions and conversation do nothing but annoy him. But I also see how the powers of this city are provoking him without cause. A diplomat who can do nothing but sympathize is rather useless, and that’s precisely the position I’ve been put in.”

Alistair seemed far away for a moment as he wandered back to the chair opposite her. “You know, we had a Qunari fight with us during the blight. Sten. Though he didn’t have horns and wasn’t quite as large as the Qunari you have here from what I’ve been told. From what I understood he was told to find out what the blight was.”

“Then he was Beresaad. I haven’t met any of them. It’s all soldiers and scouts and Viddethari in the compound here.”

Alistair held up his hands “I fought with him, I rarely to spoke to him so there were significant parts of that I missed. But… is it really as dire as you say?”

“Well let me put it this way… “Hawke leaned forward, elbows on her knees. “The Arishok is the leader of the military branch of the Qunari. He’s not not a general, he is _the_ general – the walking talking avatar of all their military might. He is a living embodiment of their way of life as well as their primary and most important military leader. And someone stole something from him. Something so important that he came and dealt with it himself.” Sitting back as she watched Alistair absorb that, she added to drive the point home, “ As a point of comparison, he sent a team of answer seekers out to investigate something as all encompassing as the blight.”

Alistair didn’t look panicked as the Viscount had when she’d made much the same point. He simply absorbed it, nodding. “Well then, I suppose more than Kirkwall should be ready for this to go badly and quickly.”

“I will, of course, try to keep that from happening – I feel like I practically live at the compound these days. The guards at the gates don’t even bother with making me state my business anymore.” Grinning and leaning forward “I do have to say, it’s very odd having the Arishok call me “serrah”. Frankly if you had time in this visit, I’d recommend an introduction. It wouldn’t stay his hand should he choose to invade Ferelden, but at least you’d be prepared for what that might be like.”

“That’s… well I was going to say comforting but I believe it’s exactly the opposite of comforting.”

 

 

Hawke grinned at him “I think I find dealing with the Qunari a welcome change from dealing with the nobles here. They’re equally viscious and warlike but at least the Qunari follow some sort of moral code about it. Maybe their bluntness has rubbed off.”

“Not a fan of the nobility? Something else we have in common it seems.” Alistair had settled back in his chair and had his head tilted to the side as he watched her talk. He looked as if he were attempting to take her measure in some way, to figure something out.

“They’re ever focused on the minutiae and blind to the larger scope of things. In my admittedly limited experience, they’re best ignored when possible and if not possible, they’re best put in their place.”

Alistair grinned at that, “Hah! Eamon would swallow his beard if I ever said anything like that around him.”

Hawke grinned right back mischievously “Let me guess, Eamon is a noble?”

Alistair chuckled, “As are you, Hawke.”

Hawke scoffed at that “I’m as much a noble as you are a saucy lady of the evening, Alistair.” Hawke blanched as soon as the words were out of her mouth. “Maker’s Balls I just said that out loud to a king. I’m so sorry. If my mother were here she’d have keeled over dead roughly 20 minutes ago at my course manners. “

Thankfully, Alistair waved it away, and smiling sincerely at her. “Not at all, it’s actually really refreshing having someone talk to me like a person. Which reminds me, I’m only in the city for another few days, but I might want to check in with you again before this visit is completed. Would that be alright with you?”

“Of course it would. Not only would I be happy to provide help to someone I don’t loathe for a change, but you’re actually good company. It’s been… a really pleasant surprise.”

Alistair fully blushed at that and mumbled out “Ah, well, that’s me, utterly charming in a surprising way.” He was looking anywhere but at her while the heat in his cheeks receded. Hawke had rarely seen a man wear his emotions so clearly on his face this way. It was simultaneously intriguing and worrying. If he was like this all the time, it would be far too easy for people to take advantage of him and she felt oddly protective of him – the same way she felt about those others in her circle of companions. Now that she knew him he was hers to protect.

Standing again, this time Hawke stood with him. “Maybe when I see you again I’ll have another cheese basket for you as well – one twice the size given the way you demolished that one.”

“I will never ever turn down cheese, my lady, but you needn’t bother yourself. Now that I know there’s a shop in town I’ll be buying them out on my own. You may return to find they’ve no stock left at all.” Alistair radiated good humor at this. “Do tell your mother though that the bread was lovely and that it makes me miss home. Maybe I will meet her before we leave.”

“That could definitely be arranged. I’m sure she would love that and then you could see where the Amell nobility bit comes in since I’m a poor example.”

Alistair extended a hand and once again shook hers when she responded. He bowed slightly and she did the same. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Hawke. It’s a relief to see someone from Ferelden doing so well after the blight, even if they’ve had to do it in another country.” And when he said it is wasn’t a platititude or something that a king should say. He meant it, every word.

He turned and strode to the door, heading out with Hawke following at a respectful distance. He continued through the barracks and strode out into the main hall of the keep. Teagan hung back to take Hawke’s hand and kiss it once again, bidding her goodbye.

Hawke just stood watching the contingent leave the keep as Aveline slowly made her way toward them through the gawking crowd of guardsmen. “I don’t know how you do it, Hawke, but do you realize you just spent half an hour alone with the King of Ferelden in my office?”

Eyes still distant, watching the King’s Guards filing out of the keep, Hawke sighed, “Yes, Aveline, believe me when I say that I really really do realize that.”

Aveline was watching the scene as well “He really is something out of a story, isn’t he?”

Hawke nodded “Like something Varric would make up. But well, less ridiculous.”

“Speaking of Varric, you know he’ll write about this.” Aveline quirked an eyebrow at Hawke.

Hawke sighed. “Unfortunately, he will. All I can hope is that he takes this in the direction of accolades and attention and not the way he’s written about … well… “

“… everyone else you’ve ever encountered? Including Seneschal Brann? I believe in the latest tale he’s been spinning Senschal Brann is just off-putting due to his searing jealousy.”

Hawke shuddered “I hadn’t heard that one. That’s… unsettling. Also, how could I possibly be both the avenger everyone fears and the goddess they all want to bed simultaneously? It makes no sense at all.”

“His readership loves it.” Aveline shrugged.

“Well then I hope the king is out of Kirkwall long before the tales of his visit start circulating.” Hawke clapped her friend on the shoulder and began to leave.

Hawke could hear the smirk in Aveline’s voice as she murmured “Don’t bet on it.”

 


	2. Settling In

Alistair stood in the window of the room, staring out at Hightown. This city was so strange and all he’d really seen of it so far was a quick peak at the docks as they’d landed and Hightown. What he really wished he could do is lose his personal guard and go see the other parts of the city. He wanted to know how most of the Fereldens were truly living. He’d already sent general notice and made ships available to take the refugees back home, but the idea that so many of his countrymen had to spread out across the Free Marches while they fled gnawed at him. But Teagan had been adamant and since this was his first visit here, he didn’t want to cause an incident. He’d have to rely on his guard captain, Donal, to report back to him about the state of the city beyond what the Viscount wished him to see. Maybe Hawke had been right – he needed spies.  


He was staying in the personal residence of the Viscount, which was populated predominantly by staff, as far as Alistair could tell. The Viscount seemed to live in his office and Seamus, the Viscount’s son, was home as little as possible. He’d been polite, intelligent, even charming in his earnest discussion of the Qunari. But it seemed Seamus’s roster of interests started and ended with the Qunari, leaving room for nothing else. And it was difficult to tell if he was truly interested in them or interested in the extreme discomfort his attention to the squatters caused in his father. It was perhaps equal helpings of both. While Alistair could understand that rebelliousness he didn’t have anything in his own life to directly compare it to. Why would you knowingly go out of your way as a young man to upset the closest relative you have?  


He’d spent the morning in a meeting with the Dwarven Merchant’s Guild. How that went he couldn’t really tell. Solona had dealt with most of the intrigues while in Orzammar and dwarven politics were still a completely mystery to him. Dwarven Merchant politics seemed to run even deeper into labrynthine absurdity so he felt like he’d spent most of the meeting just nodding and saying “Interesting”. He had just been trying to get some sense of surface merchant needs and processes from their own point of view instead of relying on the reports from King Behlen. He didn’t trust anything that came from Orzammar, and especially anything being filtered through Behlen’s henchman Gavorn. One thing they’d all agreed on, however, was the sorry state of ale in the Free Marches. He wasn’t much of a drinker, but the swill available in the Free Marches would have made Ogrhen weep.  


After the Dwarven Merchant’s Guild, he’d met with a group of non-dwarven merchants who wanted to strengthen their personal fortunes in Ferelden. Unfortunately they seemed primarily interested in shipping in huge quantities of Orlesian silks and sundry baubles. What Ferelden needed was grain and plenty of it. The state of the country’s farming communities wouldn’t get them through the winter and the country was about to become sorely in debt to Orlais if they couldn’t broker a deal to important grain, cheaply, from another source and soon.  
The fact that Eamon was starting to seriously support the concept of an official alliance between Orlais and Ferelden for that very reason made Alistair feel the situation was even more dire. He would not marry Celene or any one of her many sisters or cousins. He still fully remembered the horror he felt at the prospect of that very thing when they’d found Cailan’s letters at Ostegar. While he certainly did not have the kind of blind hatred toward Orlais that many others did, he had an extreme dislike of political machinations and arranged marriages. Marrying Celene would land him in the middle of both and he had no interest in being the woman’s puppet, no matter how stunning she may be.  


After the merchants had cleared out, he’d had an incredibly charming meeting with Knight-Commander Meredith at the Gallows. Apparently the Knight-Commander is too good to meet anyone anywhere except her own office. Which suited Alistair fine, actually, as he wanted to get a first-hand look at the place. And, Maker, was “The Gallows” an appropriate name. The statues that loomed down from the walls combined with the hard faces of the Templars and the obviously petrified mages scurrying back and forth was just oppressive. The stories he’d heard about the Kirkwall circle were, if anything, an understatement. He’d been completely taken aback to see Cullen of all people. When speaking with him he certainly seemed to be back in his right mind, but the last time he’d spoken to Cullen he was screaming about the death of all mages and trying to convince Greagoir to invoke the Right of Anullment. He’d certainly been tormented and tortured and the idea that he was welcome here to continue working among mages was… frightening.  


But then given how absolutely nutty Meredith turned out to be, Cullen might actually be a calming influence among the Templars. She scoffed at the idea of allowing mages more freedom, she berated Alistair for having had the gall to suggest that Templars not watch over mages at a new circle in Ferelden (Which the Chantry berated him for as well and turned his royal decree into a silly suggestion that they could safely ignore), and then she dismissed him like he was a street urchin who had wandered in accidentally. Thankfully other Templars in the Gallows were more willing to have actual discussions and a few of them actually agreed with him about Templar control over the mages and how it pushes them toward demons instead of protects them from their influence. But too few to ever be counted on for support. Meredith struck him as the type to stamp out all dissent in her ranks.  


After that lovely slice of Kirkwall life, he was more than happy to return to the relative quiet of the Viscount’s home for the evening to try to relax. Teagan seemed to think the whole trip was going very well but Alistair only felt like he was gathering questions as opposed to answers. Marian Hawke had been the only person so far who hadn’t spoken in circles with him.  


He’d shared an early dinner with Seamus who, of course, had done nothing but talk about the Qunari. When Alistair had mentioned meeting Hawke to Seamus, the boy positively lit up. More than a little hero worship was evident in his reaction and the breathless way he recounted how he’d met her. The battle he described between Hawke’s group of four and the Winters’ group of 30 or more seemed as if it must be exaggeration and even said so at one point. Seamus reacted in such a scandalized manner, however, that Alistair was sure his count was accurate. Perhaps there was hero worship there and something else – something beyond respect and a little closer to a crush? Interesting.  


But then, who wouldn’t? She was undeniably attractive. Well that was a ridiculous word, even in Alistair’s own mind. She was beautiful in a very real way. She wasn’t some ethereal goddess out of a story. She had chestnut brown hair that framed a face with high cheekbones, a prominent but handsome nose, and a mouth that always seemed to be on the cusp of smirking. Her eyes were brown like her hair but with flecks of green and gold, making their color difficult to pinpoint at first and giving the impression depending on the light that they actually changed color. She also had that fighter’s stance, that effortless grace of rogues who looked like they could dance just as easily as they could slit your throat before you noticed they’d pulled a dagger at all. It reminded him of Zevran, actually. She had the bearing of someone who could be languishing in comfort one moment and have you subdued and bleeding the next.  


A beautiful woman who could also clearly take care of herself – it was almost too perfectly Ferelden. And from Alistair’s own experience, he knew that it could be a potent mixture in a woman. The fact that she was also charming and intelligent meant that she was more than likely on the mind of many men in Kirkwall. Teagan had even been somewhat more effusive in his appreciation of her than Alistair had expected once they’d left the keep the day before. Teagan was always something of a pushover for powerful women – he’d made that abundantly clear when he’d met Solona. Once Redcliff was secure and Eamon on the mend Teagan had been practically giddy around the Warden, showering her with praise she had no idea how to deal with. The fact that Teagan had eventually married a sweet, shy girl from Redcliff made little sense to Alistair, but then he wasn’t exactly an expert in matters of the heart. While everyone knew Alistair as the Bastard King they’d swallow their tongue in glee knowing that he was also the Virgin King.  


Hawke seemed a little more “in on the joke” than Leliana had ever been. Leliana had always been sweet and charming, but in a very pronounced and highly feminine way. All giggles and eyelash flutters and pretty blushes that were certainly part of her personality, but also part of her training as a bard. While he wouldn’t say that Hawke wasn’t feminine – far from it – it wasn’t in that same coquettish way. And why he’d developed such a sturdy opinion on this in the single day since meeting her he couldn’t really say outside of the fact that he’d really enjoyed talking to her. It had been a long time since he’d just… talked to someone. She didn’t seem to care about his position or status. And if she did, she did a good job hiding it. Talking to her had felt like talking to a person, one who didn’t expect or want anything from him. And he’d missed that in the last few years. He had missed being… just Alistair.  


Evening had approached while he stood in the window, going through these thoughts and, as if thinking of her had conjured her, he saw Hawke in the courtyard below. She had just walked down a set of steps with a tall man at her side and had come to a stop just in front of a flowerbed in the courtyard. The two turned to each other and were talking, Hawke standing with one leg slightly in front and one hip kicked out in a casual stance while the man – an elf – looked around like he was expecting to be jumped at any moment. Hawke glanced around a few times, and then walked around sort of aimlessly, like she disliked standing in one place. Not really pacing, just meandering. She crouched in front of the flower bed and ran a finger across some of the plants there for a moment, then stood and picked a leaf off the small tree and started systematically shredding it while she talked. Alistair’s attention was drawn eventually to the elf she was talking to. He was very tall for an elf, with a shock of bright white hair and sinister looking spiked black armor. The man had the most enormous broadsword he’d ever seen strapped to his back. Peeking out in a few open patches along the backs of his hands and down his arms were what looked like tattoos, but they shone bright white against his tanned skin and seemed to have an almost metallic cast to them. Alistair had never seen anything like it. While he watched they both stilled and Hawke moved a little closer, as if they were discussing something, but Alistair knew this kind of purposeful casualness. He’d done it himself often enough. They knew they were being watched – he would never understand how rogues did that or why the elf, obviously a warrior despite his slight build, would have picked up on it too.  
Instead of waiting to be found out, and run the risk of being thought of as creepy – because it was, frankly, creepy, that he’d been watching her - he tapped on the window. Both heads jerked toward the sound simultaneously, and he met Hawke’s eyes and watched the grin spread across her face as her shoulder relaxed just a fraction. The elf, however, did not relax. Those huge green eyes just continued to watch him. It was a little unnerving, to be honest, but Hawke’s smile more than made up for the discomfort. Alistair gave a little wave of his hand and immediately silently berated himself for it, sure it would look foolish. Hawke just grinned more and then immediately her face went serious. She turned her body completely toward the window and fell into a flawless, deep curtsey. Alistair let out a huge laugh at that. And then also schooled his features into what he felt was a haughty, kingly look, waving his hand now in a very stiff, formal manner, as if greeting his subjects. Hawke’s head tilted back and her grin was a fully-fledged beaming smile now as she laughed. She then elbowed the elf at her side and said something, to which he shook his head “no”. She elbowed him again and muttered something at him. He rolled his eyes in a long suffering way, turned toward Alistair and bowed. Hawke seemed satisfied with that and also bowed, smirking up at Alistair and maintaining eye contact.  


The two of them straightened up and turned suddenly away from the window and Alistair could see a Dwarven man sauntering toward them with a grin on his face and recognized him as one of the men he’d met with earlier from the Dwarven Merchant’s Guild. He hadn’t gotten everyone’s names and this man in particular had seemed to stay well outside of the bulk of the discussion. Alistair saw that the man had the most enormous crossbow he’d ever seen strapped to his back. What a bizarre group of people. Everyone who had mentioned Hawke tended to mention her “companions” with varying levels of distaste and disdain. She apparently kept company with an interesting array of apostates, elves, and ne’er-do-wells around the city. It was hard to discern if it was the elves or the apostates that bothered people more, but Alistair had gotten the sense that their real complaint was that she didn’t kowtow to the correct people in the city, not that she had unorthodox friends.  


After exchanging a few words with the Dwarf, Hawke pointed up at the window. The Dwarf waved up at Alistair and gave a flourished bow. Alistair inclined his head slightly toward the Dwarf. Then they headed off, the Dwarf taking lead. Hawke paused and waved back again, smiling. Alistair returned the wave. He continued to watch them leave and saw that Hawke looked back at him twice more before they moved down another set of steps and eventually out of sight.  


“Might I ask what all that was about, Alistair?” Teagan was suddenly immediately behind him, causing Alistair to jump and turn awkwardly.  


“Makers BALLS, Teagan, when did you get so sneaky?”  


“I’ve always been this sneaky Alistair, and you didn’t answer the question. Who were you pantomiming at in the street?”  


Alistair rubbed at the back of his neck, “Ah, I imagine that looked a little funny from behind me. It uh... It was Hawke and a couple of her companions.”  


“Oh, really? I’m sorry I missed her.” Teagan said, looking honestly disappointed. “She really is an intriguing woman.”  


Alistair went to read the correspondence that had materialized on the desk. “Yes, she seems to be. Should I tell Kaitlyn to be concerned, Teagan?” Alistair asked, peering at Teagan from under his brow.  


“What? No, of course not. I’m married, Alistair, I’m not blind. There’s no harm in acknowledging the woman’s… charms.”  


Alistair continued to smirk at him “Ooh, her “charms” is it? Maybe you just have a particular weakness for Amell women, Teagan.”  


Teagan sighed a little wistfully “It was a shame that Solona was already entangled with that assassin of hers. He was so slimy, I still don’t understand what she or, well, anyone, would see in him.”  


Alistair shrugged “After a while you got used to him. I thought the same at first as well, but he was very loyal to her and he really did care for her. He was like a walking corpse after she died. Besides, Teagan, I don’t think she was the settling down type. She spent most of her life stuck in that tower and when she finally got out it was a year of constant struggle and the threat of destruction followed swiftly by a terrible death. You shouldn’t pine after someone who was never going to be capable of being anything other than a fantastic Grey Warden.”  


Teagan looked at Alistair thoughtfully for a moment. “Alistair, did you just give sound advice without a hint of sarcasm or mockery? I think I might have to write Eamon and the Chantry to have this marked on their official calendars.”  
“Hah. Hah. Laugh all you want, but I’ve been King for three years; a few things at least have sunk in.”  


Teagan chuckled “I truly meant to offense, Alistair. You give yourself too little credit. You’ve been a good King and you will continue to be. You’ve handled the Bannorn beautifully, far better than Cailan ever did for certain. You’ve established a great deal of trade with Orzammar and forged a strong alliance with King Behlen. And you’ve managed to improve the Alienages throughout Ferelden without getting up the nose of too many nobles about it. The people, frankly, adore you. I know my brother is scant with his praise and heavy with his criticism but I’m beginning to think it’s because he’s come to understand just how little you need him. His only complaint now, and it’s become an increasingly strident one, is the lack of a queen.”  


Alistair groaned and ran his hands down his face “Don’t remind me. Before we left Denerim he had a list delivered to my study without any preamble that contained eligible and suitable marriage prospects from among the nobility. Just a list, like I should pick whichever looks most like my wife based on her name. The disturbing thing is, that most of them would probably be all too happy to be picked that way. You didn’t have to marry a noblewoman and you’ve been just fine.”  


“Alistiar, I am not the King. A Bann has far more leeway in his marriage prospects and might I remind you that I still had nothing but a full month of fighting with Eamon about that at as well. I swear if we had any marriageable female cousins he’d have arranged some sort of intermarriage, as if the Guerrin line needs to remain pure.”  


Alistair intoned “creeeepy”  


“Indeed,” Teagan agreed. “But allow me to give some of my own advice. If you’re hoping to marry for love, you might try actually meeting some of these women and actually talking to them instead of assuming that you’ll hate them all. I’ve known many of the women that Eamon has put forth and there are at least a few that I think you’d get along quite well with.”  


“Yes, you’re right. It’s just difficult to even think about while I’m focused on getting the country back on its feet. I understand that my personal life is no longer personal, but it feels like such a petty thing to gain this much attention. How am I supposed to court someone when all they see is the crown and the palace?”  


Teagan nodded, it was a conversation they’d had many times. “I understand, Alistair. Have you considered courting outside of Ferelden? There are bound to be marriageable women who aren’t obsessed with your position.”  


“Well of course I’ve considered it, Teagan, but the problem then becomes that I can’t just expect a woman who doesn’t understand the duty of a Queen to be comfortable with that duty. If she marries me expecting her life to be one of leisure or one of simply being a wife she’ll be sorely disappointed. And while I’ve come to terms with the nature of my life, I can’t go through that whole process again with someone else, especially someone I’m supposed to be ruling a country with. Bah! I’ve talked about this enough. I have some correspondence to respond to and then I want to turn in. The ride out to Sundermount will take some time and I want to have a chance to really talk to the Keeper. Maintaining our relations with the Dalish can’t be confined to Lanaya’s clan in Ferelden.”  


Teagan rose from his seat “Very well, Alistair. I’ll let you get some sleep. I’ve sent runners ahead to Starkhaven and Tantervale with our itineraries so they should be prepared for us, but also noted that we may have a change in arrival time depending on how long it takes us to traverse the Vimmark. I’ve also sent out some feelers for those books about the Qunari you’ve asked for, though I have a feeling Seamus is going to be an ideal source for those so we may be able to get them before we return to Denerim. Otherwise our best bet will be sources in Tevinter since they’ve had the most ongoing contact with the Kissoth.”  


“Thank you, Teagan. I’ll see you first thing.”


	3. A Sweet Parting

The meeting with Marethari had gone well. She said several incredibly cryptic things about the “light” in Alistair and about the “great things” that would be done by him. But he’d become accustomed to Keepers and the way they spoke. Marethari was as wizened as Zathrian should have been but it was impossible to tell her actual age. She could have been 50 or 250. Her clan had lingered in the same place for far too long because of the death of their Halla. Alistair sent word to Ferelden about the issue as soon as he was back at the Viscount’s estate, though in truth he had no idea if they would be able to help. If he could, he’d arrange for Halla to be shipped by sea from Highever if there was any way for Lanaya to arrange the Halla to be brought that far north. Even a single mating pair would get the Sundermount clan back on their feet and able to move as they needed to. With Kirkwall so close and the fervency of the Templar Knight-Commander, Alistair felt they were in real danger of losing their Keeper if they lingered in the area for much longer.

The trip out and back took the entire day and it was dark when he returned to the estate. In addition to the message to Lanaya, he had some other housekeeping correspondence forwarded on by Eamon to contend with. Most of it was very basic, but at least Eamon was taking Alistair more seriously now and not simply making his decisions for him. He saw to it that the last of his belongings were packed, though the staff had taken care of the bulk of what needed to be sorted out. One of the house stewards called a messenger for him to take his correspondence, and he was nearly back in his room before he shot back out to scribble off one last note – a local delivery asking Hawke to meet him at the gates of the city tomorrow. He hoped it wasn’t too late and that she’d actually be available. He didn’t want to leave the city before saying goodbye and she had said that she’d be happy to see him again before he left. 

The message sent, he collapsed into bed and tried not to think too hard about the impending trip across the mountains. Since his experiences in the Frostbacks he had a special dislike of mountain passes and the clans that dotted them. Not that he expected the Vimmark to be covered in backwater dragon-worship clans. But the association was not a pleasant one. 

*************

Hawke stood at the gates along with Varric, both of them groggy and a little hung over. After the last few days, they’d spent the night playing cards and getting ridiculously drunk on the absolutely terrible ale available in Kirkwall. The night before had been… trying for them all in many different ways. While Hawke had developed a preference for any imported brandy she could get her hands on in Kirkwall, there was something especially appropriate about drowning your sorrows in alcohol that tasted just as sorrowful as you felt. If anyone were to ask Hawke what she missed about Ferelden, ale was not what she would have expected to float to the top of the list. But that’s where it was, along with grass, moorlands, fog, and cool summers. The fact that people in Kirkwall were seemingly unaware of just how terrible their drink of choice was only depressed her. 

She was out of armor for a change, not having the wherewithal to deal with all the buckles that morning when she was accosted by an all too cheery Bodahn waving the King’s message at her. She had just enough time to slurp down some tea, shove a chunk of bread into her mouth, run a comb through her hair, and throw on a simple dress before she got down to the gates. Varric was only with her because she’d found him in the market on her way and forced him to accompany her. And he was not going to shut up about it. 

“You know, Hawke, I’d say you owe me, but you know that. So instead I’ll say you owe me BIG. It feels like there’s an Antivan nug circus doing gymnastics in my head and I’m standing in the sun at the gate to the city instead of back in my own bed where I should be.” 

Hawke sighed, “Varric, were you not the one who wanted to see the King off? Were you not the one who said that you didn’t get to “size him up” enough during the Merchant Guild meeting? Were you not the one who grilled me for every detail of the conversation we’d had? Oh, wait, I know the answer to all those questions. You were. I’m sorry that you’re hung-over. I’ll grab you an elfroot potion just as soon as we’re done here. I’ll throw in a neck rub as well.” 

“Feet.” 

“What?” 

“Feet, Hawke. I want a foot rub.” 

“I don’t do feet, Varric. You’ll have to get one of your many fawning ladies to take care of that for you. It’s neck rub or nothing, take it or leave it.” 

“I’ll leave it, then. You’re stingy when you’re hung-over.” 

“And you’re pushy when you’re… awake.” 

He was mercifully silent for a few moments. But then just had to goad her. “You realize, Hawke, that you’re wearing a dress. A clingy dress at that. Is there something more you want to tell me about Kingy?” 

Hawke snorted “I’ve told you all I’m going to tell you about Alistair because you’ve wrung every drop of information from me on the topic. You asked me the color of his eyes at least three times, Varric. If anyone here is harboring a secret love for the king I think it must be you.” 

Varric threw up his hands in a position of surrender. “Alright, alright, I’ll leave it alone. But if you’re holding out on me, I’ll know when he shows up.” 

Some of the King’s Guards had been there when they arrived, but Alistair himself was not among them. The fact that they had horses at all was surprising to Hawke. She hadn’t seen a single horse since coming to Kirkwall. Ferelden, especially in the north, near Highever, was horse country. While they were far more commonly associated with Orlais and their famed Chevalliers, the horses in Ferelden were of a sturdier stock given the length of the winters. These horses were clearly Orlesian and were far more majestic looking than those found in Ferelden. She couldn’t help herself from petting their noses, despite the looks she was getting from the King’s Guards. They hadn’t actually told her to stop and she was adept at completely ignoring a hint when it suited her. Varric was pacing around behind her as she rubbed her fingertips along the nose of the dappled gray stallion in front of her. “So how was Broody? We didn’t get a chance to talk about that, just that he’d shown up finally.” 

“Fenris was… how you would expect him to be - agitated, upset, but also contrite. He apologized for storming off, which he didn’t really need to apologize for. He apologized for taking his anger out on me – which was a complete cop-out, really. Spitting “What does magic touch that it doesn’t spoil” at me for asking if he was alright was a little more pointed than I think he’s willing to admit.” 

Varric sighed, “Well, maybe he thinks it doesn’t matter as much to you because you’re not a mage, Hawke.” 

“I suppose that’s possible. I don’t know. He acknowledged that we were friends and that he needs to just talk to me when he feels this way. But I know how hard it is for him so I didn’t push. And the fact of the matter is – I’m glad he killed her. Maker, that sounds terrible when I just say it like that. But it’s true.” 

Varric nodded at her “You and me both, Hawke. If there was ever someone who deserved her fate it was that sick little bit of work. I thought the stories about his master were bad enough. And “Hadriana”? Is that a common name in Tevinter or were her parents just especially unkind?” 

After another gap of silence that Hawke knew wouldn’t last, Varric piped up again. “How’s the kid doing?” 

Hawke folded her arms across her chest “She’s okay for now. It’s going to take a long time for her to relax a little, but well – this is the first day of her life she hasn’t been a slave. She insisted she would just sleep in the kitchen last night and it was a long fight to get her to agree that she could have her own room. She kept promising she’d leave the door open. She was apparently up at the crack of dawn today cleaning every available surface in the house. Mother won’t stop shooting me disapproving looks constantly, but she’s been very sweet to Orana.” 

“You think you’ll keep her around or try to find another place for her?” 

“I really don’t know yet, Varric. I worry about moving her off to someone else so soon. I think it would be better to get her comfortable with the concept of not being a slave and then take it from there.” They were both quiet for a few minutes while thinking about the girl. Having watched her family and everyone she knew slaughtered to power blood magic rituals she was still oddly calm about the whole thing. Which just fueled Hawke’s dread over just how awful Orana’s life had been. “That reminds me, Varric, have you had any luck looking into Hadriana’s background? I want to make sure that Orana can’t be claimed as inheritance by anyone.” 

Varric nodded “I’m still checking into it. The good news is that Hadriana doesn’t seem to have any immediate family. From what I understand she may have been a “prize” taken by Denarius after he did away with her father and brother. They weren’t sanctioned duels, but they were easily ignored “accidents”. But since Danarius is still alive, presumably, and she was his apprentice, Tevinter law may allow her property to fall to him.” 

Hawke sighed “Well, hopefully he’s not as interested in hunting down a random maid as he is in hunting down Fenris.” 

The incessant clanking of plate armor caught their attention as they watched a small group of the King’s Guard move forward with Alistair and Teagan at the center. They were engaged in conversation, but when Alistair glanced up and saw Hawke standing there, his face broke into a wide grin. 

Varric at her side muttered “Uh huh. Nothing more to share. Why do you bother holding out on me, Hawke?” 

Hawke ignored it and smiled back at Alistair as the group made their way closer. Alistair stepped over to the two of them and Hawke extended her hand to shake. “Greetings, your Majesty,” This time, however, he turned it, bowed, and kissed her knuckles and then grinned up at her, still bowing over her hand. “Did Teagan see that?” Hawke nodded at him, feeling the heat rising in her cheeks – that was not the greeting she was expecting. “Good,” Alistair said, rising and letting her hand go, “He was all over me yesterday for my manners.” 

Alistair didn’t seem to notice the blush or at least had the good sense not to dwell on it if he did, and turned instead to Varric, extending his hand, “Hello again, Sere. I don’t believe I had the pleasure of learning your name at the Dwarven Merchant’s Guild meeting. If I’d known you were a friend of Hawke’s I’d have pulled you aside immediately after the meeting.” 

Varric stepped forward and gave a little flourishing bow “Hello, Your Majesty, Varric Tethris as your service.” 

“Unfortunately my time today is extremely limited if we want to make any kind of decent headway before dark, else I would love to pick your brain about the Merchant’s Guild and try to decipher exactly what happened in that meeting.” 

“There’s no need for you to worry, your Majesty, you did well in the meeting. They come on all bluster and try to confuse and annoy as soon as possible to sort of… take measure of someone new. I’d say your dealings with King Behlen probably served you well. If you can deal with that blowhard Gavorn, you can deal with anyone in the Merchant’s Guild.” 

Alistair had a slightly wary look about as he turned to Hawke “This is your friend with the spy network, isn’t it?” 

Hawke grinned “Was it that obvious? Just assume Varric knows everything about everything. If he doesn’t know something he’ll consider it a personal affront and work tirelessly until he does.” 

Varric produced a small packet of papers “At Hawke’s request, I made this up for you. It’s a list of contacts who can be trusted for their discretion and their particular… ah… areas of expertise. They’re already on my payroll so you don’t have to worry about paying them. If you have any questions about an area or an event, just send them a message and they’ll get back to you or your representatives with whatever you might need to know. “ 

Alistair looked through the list, stunned at the number of names available and the countries and regions they covered. “This is … incredible. You have an amazing network here, Varric. ” 

“No, your Majesty, YOU have an amazing network. Any friend of Hawke’s is a friend of mine… within reason.” 

Alistair folded the papers back up and shook his head “You have my sincere thanks.” He turned to Hawke, “And you have some amazing friends. I was wondering…” and then trailed off as he noticed a nasty purple bruise, tinged with yellow that ran from the base of Hawke’s neck and across her shoulder, ending in something that looked vaguely hand-shaped. “What happened? Are you okay?” 

Hawke looked at him a little confused for a minute “Oh this!,” she said, gesturing at her shoulder, “I had a trip out to check on a business I’m part owner of and we were ambushed by slave hunters from Tevinter.” 

Alistair’s eyes went a little wide at that. “Is that… normal?” 

Varric and Hawke both chuckled lightly at that “Depends on the day, really, your Majesty. But well, they were after a dear friend of mine and we decided to track them to their source. Cue magisters and blood magic and a shade who tried to take my head off.” 

Alistair, without thinking, gently prodded at the bruise and the surrounding area, showing no signs of bashfulness or skittishness about touching a woman he didn’t know very well in the face of an injury. “I take it you’ve got a competent healer?” 

Hawke smiled “Definitely. You should have seen it last night. Well, no, you shouldn’t have. I was a mess. But yes – I’m on the mend, bruises should be gone in a day or two.” 

Alistair smiled “I knew you were something of an adventurer, Hawke, it just hadn’t occurred to me that I’d be seeing some of the result of those adventures while I was here.” Alistair leaned forward and whispered “To tell the truth, I miss it.” 

“I can understand that. It must be difficult spending a year fighting the blight only to have to put it all aside and be expected to allow yourself to be protected constantly.” 

“You have no idea. Anyway, I was going to ask before I got distracted by your lovely bruise – I was wondering if it would be alright to write to you sometime. I very much enjoyed talking to you the other day and it occurred to me how much I missed having companions who weren’t staff.” 

“Alis-,” Hawke caught herself, realizing this was not “private”, “Your Majesty, you needn’t ask. Of course you can write to me. I’d… really like that actually.” As she said it, she realized it was true. She would actually really enjoy that. 

“Good. Right then.” Alistair looked around for a moment as if he were a little lost and then clapped his hands together and took in a deep breath. “I’m off to traverse a mountain range now. It was truly a pleasure meeting you and I can’t thank you enough for the information,” holding up the packet of papers Varric had handed him and addressing the dwarf,” And your company,” addressing Hawke. 

Hawke smiled at the king and did that low curtsey for him “The pleasure was all mine, your Majesty.” 

Alistair went a little pink at that but had a warm smile on his face as he turned toward his horse. 

Varric and Hawke backed up a few steps as the whole procession passed through the gates and Varric remained remarkably quiet. 

Until Alistair turned and looked back, still beaming that wide smile at Hawke. 

“Flirting with Royalty suits you, Hawke.” 

“I will kill you in your sleep, Varric.”


	4. The First Exchange

The first letter from Alistair arrived far earlier than she’d expected. In fact, she hadn’t really expected to hear from him at all, assuming that his request to talk to her more had been a bit of nicety on his part and not an actual request. It’s not as if they ran in the same social circles, after all. But there it was on her desk, a thick sheaf of fine parchment with the royal seal of Ferelden imprinted in the wax seal.

> Hawke –   
> Our trip to Tantervale was largely uneventful with the usual requests and the usual posturing of their lord-regent. The Ferelden refugees there seem to be having a slightly easier time of things than those in Kirkwall, primarily because fewer of them made it this far north. I’ve already made use of Varric’s amazing assortment of contacts and their information smoothed over several things that could have been incredibly uncomfortable to deal with had I not known about them beforehand. For instance, the fact that the lord-regent of Tantervale has a known proclivity toward very young men. His officiating chambers looked like something out of a very specific Orlesian pleasure-house with shirtless young men lounging about all over the place on display, quaffing drinks and chatting. Being prepared for that probably saved me a great deal of fervent blushing and averted eyes. 

> But my real reason for writing is two-fold. 

> First – what in Maker’s name has happened to Starkhaven? I was lead to believe it was a very stable region and was counting on that fact to broker some deals that would bring their grain down the Minanter to Wycome where we could ship it back down to Amaranthine or Denerim. Ferelden is in dire need of new grain contracts and Starkhaven had looked like our most promising option based on reputation and the decades long stability given under the Vael family. When we arrived the castle itself was in complete disarray and despite being notified well in advance of our arrival, a steward greeted us and then shamefacedly told us that the Prince was “indisposed” and could not greet us himself. While I don’t personally care much, on a political level, that’s a disaster. I thought at first that we were being heavily snubbed, but after a few days here, it’s apparent that this Goren Vael is simply a terrible Prince who is running the city-state into the ground. The contacts here have said much the same thing, but are scant on the details of exactly how this happened. 

> The stability of Starkhaven can’t be our primary concern, but the farmers here are truly suffering. They’ve gotten no support from the Prince in the last year with trade agreements drying up. They had such a surplus of unsold grain that it was left to molder in silos before they could do anything with it. The farmers lost a great deal of revenue and their lords are furious at the state of affairs, having to dig deep into their own coffers to keep their people from suffering more. Every noble we’ve spoken to has had nothing but vicious anger toward the Prince and no one has been willing to confide in myself or Teagan what the change may have been. They seem scared to talk as if the same fate might befall them as well.   
> If there is anything at all you can tell me I would appreciate it. Even just knowing what the problem is may help us know how to attack the issue. Solona was something of a King Maker and while I won’t claim that I helped greatly in either regard (one king was King Behlen, in Orzammar and one was, well, me) I was at least around for both of those processes and so some of it did rub off. 

> On another note entirely, I’ve been told I “talk funny” more than once. Apparently Ferelden accents are rare this far north and several of the farmers I spoke to threw their hands up in the air, giving up on understanding me at all. Could it be possible that I’ve been “talking funny” this whole time and it took a toothless Starkhaven farmer to point it out to me? Wait, don’t answer that, I don’t think I want to know. Our conversation in the Keep takes on an entirely new cast if I imagine that you didn’t understand half of what I said and just placated me instead. Oh, and speaking of that conversation – I’ve wanted nothing more than another piece of that lovely bread but haven’t found anything quite like it so far. The hearty food here in Starkhaven is far more to my liking than most of what I encountered so far in the Free Marches, but there’s just something different about the bread that I can’t place. 

> On to the second reason for writing to you: How have you been? Varric has been sending me steady updates. I thought it was odd at first, but I’ve come to appreciate them. The notes have been short enough that I think they’re probably stripped down to the facts, but I have to wonder about some of them since they don’t seem to make a lot of sense. According to Varric things have continued to degenerate with the Qunari and the Viscount. Someone named Petrice set up a Templar to kill a delegation? And the Viscount wanted to burn the bodies? How did the Arishok react to that? I have to admit that I’m more than a little worried about their ongoing presence there and your direct involvement. Not that I could imagine someone better suited to be involved, mind you, but from everything I’ve gathered, Qunari indoctrination is not a simple or smooth process and I fear the state Kirkwall will be in if the Arishok does decide to just raze the city. 

> I’m also now travelling from Starkhaven to Markham and then Ostwick, cutting off our leg of the journey that was to take us to Wycome since I now have nothing to bring them from Starkhaven. Because of that, I’m terribly bored on the road. Teagan is pleasant enough company and Donal, my Captain of the Guard is affable and easy to get along with, but neither of them laugh at my jokes. I find myself already growing wistful about our one short conversation. So even if you have nothing to share about any of the other topics I’ve brought up, I would appreciate anything to keep the boredom at bay. 

> Also – I’m sending this message through one of Varric’s runners. They’re easily twice as fast as the King’s messengers and Varric has assured me in multiple notes that they’re far more secure since no one would think to slaughter one of his messengers due to the lack of royal livery. 

> I hate acting like petulant royalty and commanding you to entertain me, but Maker, am I in sore need of entertainment. 

> \- Alistair  
> P.S. : Varric also mentioned that you were forced into some sort of nobleman’s son’s matchmaking gathering by your mother. Do tell! 

> Hawke grinned to herself through the last half of the letter. Alistair had actually written to her and had asked after her in a non-official capacity. As much as she hated to admit it to herself, it was somewhat exciting. It felt like it had felt when Fenris agreed to continue to help her after they’d cleared out Danarius’s mansion. Or how it felt to have Isabela say she’d tag along for a while. It was that sense of a having a whole vista of possibilities open up before her, there for her to shape in her own small way. 

Hawke’s mother had been hovering the whole time she read the letter and finally spoke up “Is the letter that interesting dear? You’ve reread it several times now.” Leandra tried to keep her tone neutral but Hawke knew better. 

“The king is asking for information about Starkhaven and asks that I help him alleviate his travel boredom by writing him back. “ 

“So it’s a personal correspondence from the king?” Hawke didn’t like the edge that Leandra applied to the word “Personal”. 

“Yes, I suppose you could say that. Here, read it yourself.” Hawke passed the letter to her mother, who did her best “oh alright if I must” face and then tucked into it greedily while Hawke gathered some writing materials to take to her desk in her room where she could be assured of privacy while she responded. 

“This letter is quite lovely, dear. Are you sure that you didn’t leave anything out about your meeting with the king?” 

“Why would you say that, mother?” 

“Well, he signed it with just his first name. That’s incredibly informal. And some of the things he says are rather, well, inappropriate in a correspondence between a lady and nobility.” 

Hawke sighed, “Mother, I am sure even kings have friendly correspondence sometimes. It’s nothing improper, he’s just being honest. I thought you’d be happy about this. Your wayward, boyish daughter is getting letters from royalty that don’t involve recriminations or summons to explain her actions.” 

Leandra put down the letter and took her daughter’s shoulders between her hands. “Of course I’m pleased, Marian. And I’ve never thought of you as either boyish or wayward. You’ve been an amazing daughter and you’ve taken such good care of all of us for so long. I’m only concerned about your happiness and ensuring that everyone treats you the way you should be treated.” 

Hawke smiled “And how exactly should I be treated mother?” Leandra was beaming at her “You should be treated like the wonderful, strong, beautiful woman you are. King or no, I don’t want anyone taking advantage of you or behaving in anything less than a completely proper manner toward you. And if he thinks that he can simply because you aren’t in Ferelden or seeing him at court, I’ll have his eyes.” 

Hawke was honestly shocked “Mother! You’ve gone from concerned to feral in a manner of minutes. What’s gotten into you?” 

Leandra suddenly pulled Hawke into a tight hug “I’m just starting to realize that you’ve spent so long protecting all of us and well, I’m not sure that I’ve ever really thanked you. Your father isn’t here to intimidate your suitors so it falls to me. You are my daughter and I love you more than words could ever say.” 

Hawke hugged her back just as fiercely, feeling unexpected tears forming in her eyes. “I… I love you too, mother. But… Alistair isn’t a suitor. He might be a friend or maybe just a fond acquaintance. Besides, you can’t fear too much from a man as enamored of cheese as he is. Just wave a hunk of it at him and he’ll be open to any of your suggestions.” 

Leandra laughed at that and released her daughter, cupping Hawke’s cheek with one hand. “I’m incredibly proud of you, you know. You’ve grown into a remarkable woman. Any man would be a fool for not seeing it. But… enough… I’ve reached my limit of hassling you for the evening. I’m off to meet Gamlen and I will see you later this evening.” Leandra placed a quick kiss on her daughter’s cheek before pulling away. 

“Have a good time, mother – as much as you can with Uncle anyway. If it’s dark when you’re heading back please stop in at the Hanged Man and ask Varric to escort you. I know you hate it there, but you’ll hate it more when I berate you for letting thugs rob you.” 

Leandra sighed, “Yes dear, I will do that.” 

Hawke watched her mother gather her things to leave and then gathered her own parcel of items and headed to the Library to write her return letter. Where the sudden burst of emotion had come from, she couldn’t be sure, but Leandra had been more open in general lately. Maybe she was finally coming to terms with their life and the loss of Carver and Bethanny. Whatever the reason Hawke was secretly moved by it. She and her mother were not exactly rivals, but she’d always felt somewhat apart from the rest of her family. Mother doted on Bethanny and Bethanny was sweet, girly, giggly and everything a mother like Leandra could want for a daughter. Marian, on the other hand, was often crass, sarcastic, caustic, and wore armor and carried daggers more often than she ever put on a dress or worried about how her hair looked. Where Bethanny had been a joyous person to her core, Marian’s humor was typically a shield or a weapon in its own right, keeping at bay anything that would get too close to her overly serious and sometimes downright dour inner workings. 

Pushing aside those thoughts, Hawke settled at her desk and began writing out the more serious parts of her letter, determined to give Alistair plenty of entertainment after that. 

..........

Alistair was in his tent going over the last pieces of his correspondence when the messenger arrived with a letter and parcel from Kirkwall. The letter was nearly a package in and of itself, far longer than the letter he’d sent out and he couldn’t suppress a smile. He’d asked for entertainment and he hoped that that’s exactly what this would contain. Directing the messenger to where he could find food and a place to rest, Alistair weighed the parcels in his hands before setting them both down on the desk to be savored later. They would be his treat after dealing with the rest of the information he had to put down and send out tonight. 

Sitting in a comfortable chair before a moderately sized camp desk, Alistair realized he would never stop finding it silly that he had a tent this large and actual furniture and that this was considered “camping”. He’d spent a year during the blight sleeping in tiny tents when possible and outdoors under lean-tos and beside fires otherwise. A thin bedroll and a decent amount of dry wood were as far as comforts went for the vast majority of that year. So much so that, when they stayed in Redcliffe for a time before heading to Orzammar he hadn’t been able to get any rest at all while sleeping in the bed and had finally just pulled a blanket to the floor. 

He’d gotten used to beds again, of course, and he wouldn’t forgo their comfort if he could help it, but the entire concept of making camp that required rugs and chairs and goblets was something he’d never become accustomed to. 

Getting through the last of his correspondence was a self-made torture. His eyes kept sliding toward the letter and package from Hawke, speculating about what they said or contained. He had distracted himself from his long, very boring trip on more than one occasion thinking about seeing her off at the gates. She looked very much the same as she had the day at the keep with the notable exception of that dress. It was just a dress – a very simple, standard dress like a million others he’d seen in Ferelden. He didn’t think she’d worn it to be enticing but that’s exactly the effect it had had. The bodice of the dress clung to every curve and hugged her chest and rib cage down to her waist, flaring out just slightly at the swell of her hips and falling nearly to her toes where the tips of her boots peaked out. She wore her hair loose without any adornment or braid. Not a spot of cosmetics on her face. A woman in armor could be very attractive. But a woman in a simple dress that defined her figure was… something else. She’d been… beautiful. There really wasn’t another word for it. And he was sure that she had absolutely no idea of just how stunning she’d looked. 

Even the bruise marring her shoulder hadn’t detracted from it in any way. It even seemed… natural… that it was there. Ferelden women, even noblewomen, were expected to be fighters in their own right. Strong, fierce, capable of picking up arms and defending their families and lands. The contrast between Ferelden women and women from other countries had never been more striking than it was as Hawke stood there at the gates to the city, unselfconscious and smiling with curious Kirkwall families lurking in the background, feigning disinterest in the departure of the King, but clearly having casual dressed up for the occasion of ignoring him. 

Finally, getting done with the letters and passing them off to a courier who would see they were delivered, Alistair poured himself some wine and pulled the packages toward him like a starving man would grasp for roast meat. The seal on the letter wasn’t pressed with a signet but instead a simple crest had been drawn in the hot wax with a quill. It was a stylized Amell crest, sketched out with a few simple strokes. 

Cracking open the letter, he glanced over the sheets inside and noted her neat, economical hand writing. He suddenly thought that he might ration himself, read only parts of it and keep the rest for later. But then realized how foolish that was and that, besides, he’d never actually show that kind of restraint. 

>   
> Alistair, his royal Kingy – 

> Your letter was a surprise. I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon. “Kingy” is what Varric has taken to calling you and I’m afraid once he chooses a nickname, he ensures that it sticks. I will attempt to entertain as well as inform in this letter as best I can. So on to the Information…

> Sebastian Vael is the rightful ruler of Starkhaven. I have no doubt out of it, and neither does just about anyone else who knows him in Kirkwall. The problem is that Sebastian has many misgivings about his rightful place as ruler of Starkhaven.   
> There are many facets to the story, but the briefest is this… he was sent to the Chantry for education as his older brothers had the succession of the city-state well in hand. Sebastian wasn’t raised with the expectation that he’d be a ruler some day and, as a result, was left to run wild to some extent. He certainly had a reputation as something of a rake when he was sent off to the Chantry. But the teachings stuck and he was a lay brother, considering taking his vows when word came that his family and most of the castle’s servants and staff had been slaughtered. Since Sebastian was considered committed to the Chantry, Goran was put into place as the monarch, being next in the family line of succession. 

> How we met isn’t important – I believe he feels some regret now over his need for revenge – but over time we’ve become friends despite our wildly differing opinions on the Chantry. We’ve also discovered together that it was a rival (but outwardly friendly and allied vassal) of the Vael family who orchestrated the murders. She was here in Kirkwall and she’s… well, she is no longer a threat to him. 

> Aveline and I have been tirelessly arguing with him to take back his country for quite awhile now, but he’s an incredibly stubborn man. 

> I haven’t been able to convince him that he can serve the Maker as Prince, but what you’ve sent of your experiences may help. Thankfully, the Grand Cleric refuses to allow him to renew his vows until she feels he truly wants it. Sebastian is a kind, thoughtful, and compassionate person. His time in the Chantry has made a man of him and I believe that he is letting his people down by refusing to even try to take back his land. 

> Even with the unrest, it will take raising an army and gathering support for him to truly retake Starkhaven. The Viscount has been less than helpful in that regard – he ever sits and wrings his hands and does little to actually govern in my experience – but he’s gained support from several long-time vassals and lords. I’m working on him as often as possible. It may break our friendship eventually, but I can’t sit and watch him squander his life in this way. He was meant for more and your letter has done nothing but convince me to redouble my efforts to get him to see that. I’ve never asked Sebastian for anything, not even assistance. He’s always come along of his own accord. Perhaps if I ask him to think about this again as a personal favor and a favor for the needs of Ferelden and its people I may be able to convince him to take me seriously.

> So that’s what’s going on in Starkhaven. I have a feeling that some of the nobles there were at least aware of Lady Harrimann’s plots and allowed them to happen, either because they were directly bribed or because they saw the potential vacuum of power as advantageous to their own schemes. However, the Vaels were well liked, even beloved, by the people. They would welcome Sebastian back, I am sure of that. 

> As for entertainment, well, I’m not sure what would suffice, but I’ll do what I can. I’ve included in the package that should have come with this letter several of Varric’s published works. “Hard in Hightown” is his fictional account of the life of Aveline. She was extremely displeased with it and actually refused to speak to him for a period of time once it was published. Primarily because it caused her guards to speculate about the main character and wonder amongst themselves just how accurate the stories were. It’s one of Varric’s most popular stories. 

> I’ve also included “The Hawke Flies North”, Varric’s account of my family’s flight from Lothering. That one is oddly accurate as far as the actual events go. The descriptions are rather… embellished. While Bethanny was never lacking in the assets department, “Heaving globes” are not words I would have ever wanted associated with my little sister’s chest. Varric usually referred to Bethanny as “Buttercup” and she adored him. 

> There is also an untitled account of our trip clearing out the Bone Pit. There were dragonlings infesting the whole thing. They’d killed most of the workers and a smallish, but older dragon was there as well. Varric has wildly exaggerated the number and sizes of the drakes we encountered. But it allowed him to add “Dragon Slayer” to my ever growing list of honorifics so he is more than happy to ignore the pitiful size of the things. 

> I’m going to give you a slightly more accurate idea of who all these people are in the stories. I’ll try to brief, but people are complicated so this might take a bit. 

> In these various stories you’ll see more about Varric, though he rarely goes into detail about himself. He doesn’t see himself as the main character in any of his stories, despite the fact that he’s often right at the center of orchestrating them. I met him while attempting to get into a Deep Roads expedition immediately after being released from a year of indentured work. That was the only way we were allowed in to Kirkwall – a lot of bribe money and being chained to a smuggler for whatever she wanted us to do for a year. Needing stability and to get my mother and sister out of our Lowtown hovel with my uncle, Bethanny pushed for us to join the expedition as it promised wealth – or at least a good step in that direction. Varric devised a scheme for me to gain enough money (50 soverign, which was utterly exorbitant at the time as I had just a few silver to my name that wasn’t already spoken for) to become a partner with his brother Bartrand, the leader of the expedition. It worked, obviously, but only after months of Varric and I hunting down every lead on every job we could find from the lowest theft and mercenary work to keeping the nobles’ dirty secrets hidden from them. It was quite an introduction to the sort of machinations at work in Kirkwall across every social stratum.   
> Varric refers to himself as my official biographer and has written and disseminated a great many stories about me. The vast majority of which are so riddled with falsehoods that I often wonder why he even bothers trying to connect them to real events. If the stories are to be believed I’ve the influential power of Andraste, the dramatic flair of the Black Fox, and the sort of woebegone tragic soul you’d expect to be depicted in the soppiest of Orlesian romance literature. Varric however may just be the most powerful man in Kirkwall – information is a commodity that he excels in trading and there is never a lack of demand more.

> Aveline and I met along the lines in the story I sent you. She entered the Kirkwall guard just after our servitude period was up and has climbed the ranks ever since, becoming Guard Captain within the year. Thankfully, she’s never been put in the position to arrest me or have any of her guardsmen come down on me personally. Isabela is a different story, but Aveline, bless her, doesn’t count me responsible for Isabela. I’ve often been able to assist her, in fact, when going through the proper channels gets her nowhere. We don’t see eye to eye on everything – not by a long shot. But she’s been like family to me since we washed up in Kirkwall and may just be my only true test of moral rightness in this place. If I’m unsure of something, I need only run it past her to determine if it’s right, wrong, or simply not right in the eyes of the law. 

> Fenris is my closest friend here. I’ve no idea how it happened, but it did. Varric calls him “Broody” most of the time though I feel it’s a little unfair. Fenris is certainly dour and taciturn but I believe he’s earned it. We crossed paths several years ago while I was still hunting up coin for the Deep Roads. He was being hunted by Slavers from Tevinter - he’d been a slave to a powerful Magister there and he’d managed to escape. Unfortunately, the Magister had made him some sort of… experiment. His tattoos, which you may have seen as they are difficult to ignore, are made of Lyrium that has been branded into his skin. It should have killed him – but it didn’t. But he did lose all his memories, either as part of the ritual or because Denarious chose to remove them. His memories start as a young man with no past and knowing only what it is to be a slave to cruel and powerful people. 

> Fenris stayed around for a while out of a sense of obligation for helping him. But I’d like to think now that he’s remained because he has friends. Any one of us would shield him from harm just as he would shield us. It’s taken quite a long time, but he’s begun to open up. I’ve convinced him to let me teach him read, he’s become something of a dangerous Wicked Grace player, and he’s finally started jabbing back when Varric or Isabela decides to play with him. He still thinks of himself as someone hunted, as not truly free and I find that incredibly frustrating – but I also don’t hold it against him. Somehow we understand each other though our backgrounds couldn’t be more different. 

> On a lighter note, he’s making me a better fighter. We spar at least once a week, most of which is spent with me getting pummeled into the ground with that ridiculous sword of his and then him correcting everything I did wrong. But yesterday I managed to get in 3 different shots to him, any one of which would have been a crippling blow. It’s only taken years, but I’m figuring out his weaknesses! Thank the Maker he’s on my side. I’d hate to have to go against him in a real fight. 

> Merrill is a Dalish elf who was… well I don’t know how to put it. She was “given” to us by Marethari, the keeper of the tribe at Sundermount. In the story about our family ending up in Kirkwall you’ll see that Flemeth, a witch? A dragon? I don’t know what she is… met us on the road just outside the Kokari Wilds as we fled Lothering. In exchange for helping us get to a port to catch a ship to Kirkwall, I agreed to take an amulet to the Keeper. Having little other choice and deciding eventually that I should probably not go back on my word to a woman who can become a dragon at will, I delivered the amulet to Marethari and we were asked to ascend to the graveyard at the top of the mountain and go through a Dalish ritual for the dead along with the help of the Keeper’s “First”, Merrill. We did as requested, discovering along the way that Merrill was more than happy to whip out her knife and slice her hands for things like opening a passageway blocked by magic. That didn’t exactly endear herself to me. I have no problem with apostates. I have a big problem with blood magic and it didn’t help that Fenris had accompanied me. I don’t think Merrill will ever appreciate just how close she came to having her heart crushed in her chest that day. Flemeth arouse from the amulet once the ritual was completed. I’d been toting a Witch around for a year without knowing it. I was more than a little surprised, but Flemeth just seem vaguely amused that I’d actually kept my end of the bargain. She had some words for Merrill and for Fenris and for me. I got the sense that she knows far more than she should. A sense that I’d also gotten when she’d agreed to help us get to Kirkwall in the first place. 

> When we returned to the Keeper, Marethari asked that, as part of the bargain, we take Merrill with us to Kirkwall. I didn’t really have a choice in the matter. I wasn’t going to annoy Flemeth and I didn’t want to make an enemy of the Keeper either. So we took Merrill with us to Kirkwall and got her set up in a house in the alienage. She looked so sad and lost that I promised I’d come to see her and I have continued to do so. She is “Daisy” to Varric and incredibly sweet while also being incredibly misguided and oddly stubborn about it. She needs a ball of twine to get from her own house to anywhere else in Lowtown and even then frequently becomes lost. The shopkeepers have become accustomed to having their stalls wrapped in twine as she tries to make her way from her house to the Hanged Man. 

> Isabela is a Rivaini pirate who Varric, in an uncharacteristically non-inventive turn, calls “Rivaini”. Isabela also claims she met you once, before you were king, in Denerim at a place called The Pearl. So – do tell, Alistair. I didn’t picture you as the whore house type! 

> Isabela is often scantily clad, often lewd, and nearly always a good person to have in a fight. I’m extremely fond of her despite the fact that I’m cannot trust her in the least. She’s been searching for a lost relic the whole time I’ve known her and I ended up meeting her totally by accident. From the moment I’ve met Isabela she has managed to embroil me in a million plots, schemes, and crackpot plans for any number of things – from ways to get a new ship to interesting ways to annoy Aveline. 

> Let’s see, I’ve already told you about Sebastian and that leaves just Anders. I don’t know if you would have met him or known of him already – I’m not really sure how all that works with the Grey Wardens. Anders escaped or fled the Wardens – he’s never really been clear on that point. I met him because I needed maps into the deep roads and Varric figured a Grey Warden would be a good bet for that. I have something of a… contentious… relationship with Anders. He’s a brilliant healer. He’s quite literally saved my life on multiple occasions. There are moments when I see his humor and his charm and I feel like I could be a real friend to him. And then his other side comes out and ruins it all. 

> Anders himself has been extremely sketchy on the details, but Varric and I have been able to piece together some of it. Apparently Anders was conscripted while he was being taken back to the circle after another escape attempt. He served with the Wardens in Amaranthine for a period of time but then suddenly… left. We haven’t found out what the circumstances were. He lives in Darktown and runs a clinic there. He’s extremely troubled – I won’t go into details – but he’s tried to do good things for those who are often forgotten about in the dregs of society here. He rails on about freedom for mages and the injustices of the Chantry. I agree with him to some extent – my father was an Apostate, after all, but his extremism worries me. 

> Varric calls him “Blondie” but he might as well call him “Broody”. He and Fenris are often angry and screaming at each other when allowed to mingle. I find the concept of choosing one or the other difficult. But I doubt Fenris will self-destruct and I’m sure that Anders will.

> Bah – thinking about Anders is not entertaining. It’s depressing. So let me move on to Noodle. Noodle is my mabari and you asked about his name before. I don’t think even Varric knows this one. 

> When I was 16 we were moving through villages near Denerim. But we were in sore need of supplies and my father decided that he would risk heading into the city to pick up what we needed. My brother Carver stayed back in the nearest village with Bethanny and my mother. I was the oldest and the best scout among us so I went along with my father. Denerim was the biggest city I’d ever been in but instead of enjoying it I just saw danger everywhere. Too many people to watch, too many exits to cover, a Chantry sat immediately beside the main gates as we came in. 

> It was only after a great deal of pointedly relaxed and unworried coaxing from my father that I was able to really take it all in. It was a big sloppy mess of people and things and commerce and goals and rather appealing – a place to get lost in.   
> We got most of our supplies quickly but while we moved from one portion of the market to another, we spotted a Mabari breeder and a pen of very young puppies. They were amazing, all different patterns and colors, a squealing, yelping mass of beasts playing and falling and running. My father talked to the breeder while I played with the dogs a bit and one in particular caught my attention. He was tawny colored all over except for a small patch on his chest of a deeper russet brown and black and much smaller than the rest. The breeder explained he was the runt and would probably be good for very little once he was fully grown. It was foolish to have gotten into the pen with them at all because I was sure there was no way that I’d be allowed to take him with us even if we could afford him. 

> My father had finished talking to the breeder as I reluctantly broke away from the pup who had been boring holes into me with his eyes. With a straight face by father asked me where the dog was. I thought he was just being cruel for no good reason. I pointed back at the pen without looking back. My father laughed then, which was a surprise, and said “well go get him, girl, before he loses his mind.” I just stared at my father and he kept smiling and laughing, pulling me back over toward the dog who was wiggling around wildly, his hind quarters whipping back and forth in joy so fervent that he was nearly pulling himself off his own feet. My father squatted in front of the dog and said “He’s like a noodle in a pot!”

> And that’s why he’s named Noodle. It was a ridiculous name for a Mabari when I was 16 and it’s a ridiculous name now. We tried to give him a different proper name, but nothing stuck – he would only answer to Noodle. He was the last name day present my father gave me before he took ill and I secretly think that the entire purpose of the trim to Denerim was to get me a mabari. I didn’t see any money change hands – my father had been working as a mercenary for years. I assume that he’d taken his payment in the form of a puppy for me. 

> Carver was beside himself with jealousy when we got back to the village. He’d been coveting every Mabari we’d seen and he desperately wanted one to choose him but none ever had. Noodle has been with me ever since and Carver continued to build on that early resentment for years. The breeder swore he’d always be small, but Noodle quickly grew to full size and then some. He still wiggles like a noodle in a pot when he’s excited, which is often. 

> Of course Varric would mention the dinner to you. Of course he would. My mother has been on me about finding a “suitable match” for a while now. Nevermind that half the noblemen in the city are completely frightened by me and would never allow their sons to marry “a barbarian” in the first place, my mother still has to try. She held a dinner party here at the house and invited a huge number of the nobility and their eligible children, both male and female, to give them additional incentive to show up in case they were already put off by me. Mother was thoroughly in her element and I was… not. I think I did well enough for most of the night. I had suffered under mother’s hair and cosmetic assaults and agreed to wear the ridiculous pointy little Orlesian foot-torture shoes and the flouncy dress with the billowing skirt that just made me feel like I would topple over at any moment. And the corsetry! No wonder noble women in other countries are often said to rarely speak. They probably can’t get enough air to do so. It never occurred to me that my waist was so ungainly that I should cinch it in under boning and layers of silk and then lash it all down. I felt like I looked ridiculous, but mother was breathless with excitement. The dress itself was a very pretty color, a very pale blue. But the bodice didn’t come up far enough for my taste and in combination with the corset I spent the whole night trying to surreptitiously pull the whole thing up. There were no sleeves on the dress at all, just a little ruff of fabric that left my shoulders completely bare and encircled the tops of my arms. Then the skirt with the ruffles and the crinoline and the under support – not to sound like a fool but there was something in my mind screaming at me about how impractical it was. Where would I hide a dagger? What if I needed to run? How long would it take for me to trip on the many layers of scratchy fabric around my legs and fall face first into a ridiculously arranged plate of finger foods?

> Apparently I didn’t do too badly. I had a full dance card and was unfortunately put through the paces. All of the dances were slow, stately type dances. Nothing too elaborate, thankfully, but all very… close. I thought I’d have to burn the dress after the number of sweaty, pasty nobleman’s hands that had been on it all night. Only one of them got too familiar for me to take but the top of the dress meant that there was far more talking directly into my chest than there was talking to my face. I felt more like something on display and less like a person. 

> Seamus was something of a relief, as I hadn’t expected to see anyone there I actually knew. He rescued me from more than one stifling conversation and of course my mother was thrilled with that development. She didn’t so much see Seamus, adorable boy obsessed with the Qunari, she saw Viscount’s Son, eligible bachelor. Seamus is certainly an attractive young man and very nice. I appreciated his assistance and went out of my way on a few occasions to stay a little closer to him than absolutely necessary to ward off some of the others in attendance, especially Seneschal Brann’s son. For someone who hates me as much as he does, Brann has managed to produce a son who has something of an unhealthy attraction toward me. Maybe it’s just to upset his father. 

> Either way, I don’t want to end up anywhere alone with him any time soon. Seamus seemed to understand and whenever Brann’s offspring started sidling over, Seamus would casually place a discrete arm around my waist. Nothing too familiar, but just enough to signal possessiveness. For all I know they have some sort of rivalry and I was being used as a pawn the whole night in some game. 

> It doesn’t really matter – I got out of it unscathed and it made mother very happy that I even allowed her to dress me up. Bethanny would have been more than game for the whole affair, of course. I don’t mind looking feminine, not at all. But I do mind the idea that I have some noble lineage and therefore should be put on display like a bolt of silk, haggled over. I don’t think I have anything to offer any of these men except headaches and inappropriate jokes. And even though it would make mother very happy, I can’t force myself to court and marry someone I don’t even like. If that means I end up a spinster, then so be it. 

> Also this week I helped Aveline court someone. It’s nice to see her express an interest in someone even though she is hopeless at expressing her romantic feelings. She actually babbled at him about blades for something approaching an hour. It was painful. But worth it to see her glowing face the next day. 

> I think I’ve run out of entertainment, Kingy. I’m sorry I haven’t had much in the way to share this week. I have spent a great deal of my time in the Qunari compound , trying to broker some sort of understanding with the Arishok. He’s continued to listen to what I have to say, but I can’t change his mind. He seems frustrated that I don’t leave Kirkwall, especially now that I could. He’s seen my rise within the city, has noticed my titles, better equipment, and so forth. He can’t understand why I don’t take my mother and leave. When I tried to explain that, while Kirkwall was indeed a pit of vipers, there were few places in Thedas that were truly better, he took that as a sign of how correct the Qun was and how twisted humanity is. 

> From what Fenris has told me, it’s extremely rare for the Arishok to spend any time at all explaining himself – let alone to a “bas”. Some of the other ranks are more willing to discuss things and I’ve actually encountered a few Ashaad who have been downright chatty for Qunari. But they’re… rare. If I come across a talkative Kossith they’re typically Tal’Vashoth and most of what they have to say are things yelled at me as they try to run me through with spears. The personal interest the Arishok has seemed to take hasn’t been lost on Fenris and he’s warned me again and again to be careful. The Arishok just doesn’t behave the way he has with me and it puts Fenris on edge.

> Being stuck between the Qunari and the Chantry’s fringe elements is the last place I want to be but I don’t see any other choice. The Qunari don’t need protection – but they do need a buffer. They’ve lasted here for years without yet causing a single death that wasn’t provoked or in self-defense. The Tal’Vashoth are another story entirely and unfortunately most people do not draw a distinction between them and the Qunari – they see horns and assume they’re all the same.   
> Public opinion has already painted me a “Horn head sympathizer” along with all manner of rumors as to what exactly the Arishok and I talk about – I’ll leave you to imagine that yourself.

> If I think of anything funny that I’ve left out here I’ll send off another runner. Varric has employed nearly half the Undercity at this point, the vast majority of them Fereldens. In the meantime, enjoy the books and let me know if there is anything else I can do for you. While things remain tense in the city, I’m hoping that I can still convince the Viscount that he needs to take a harder line against the Chantry in this matter and get Elthina involved. We’ll see how that goes.

> Until then  
> \- Hawke  
> 

..........

Alistair folded up the letter, conflicted. While that had certainly not been boring, he now just felt… troubled. He was more worried now than ever about the Qunari in Kirkwall. He also had visions that wavered from pleasant (Hawke at a fancy party), to very pleasant (Hawke’s description of her dress). Also, the idea of Seamus playing rescuer was not one he was very fond of, but he was sure Hawke could take care of herself.

The mentions of her family had him intrigued. Her father had obviously died, but she also talked about Bethanny and Carver – her siblings? – in a way that made it sound as if they too were no longer with her. How much had she lost since she left Ferelden? It occurred to Alistair that he actually knew very little about her background outside of the fact that she had at one point fled Lothering and done well for herself once she landed in Kirkwall. While he was incredibly curious he also didn’t want to cause her pain by bringing up unpleasant memories. It occurred to him that he could ask Varric, but that that might look as if he was spying on her indirectly and he certainly didn’t want to give that impression. 

He was also curious, despite himself, to know more about her Amell background. She was interesting and strong in a way that was very real and familiar to him. She didn’t remind him of Solona at all. Solona was sweet and naïve in many ways and her grounding in the realities of the world came at a huge price. Watching her innocence torn away through conflict after conflict during the blight had been difficult and by the end, she was truly not the same woman. Solona was also slight, quiet, preferring to speak as little as possible and make each word truly count. Hawke seemed to spend words like she’d never run out, cajoled, charmed, flirted, and verbally danced in a way that he immediately felt drawn to. It reminded him of his own deflections and use of humor as a shield. Hawke was also bold in a way that felt… honest. Like she wouldn’t lie to you even if you wanted her to. His life was completely absent of that kind of honesty. Maybe she wouldn’t mind telling him about her family and what she’d been through. Maybe she would approach it with the same humor she approached everything else. 

He took the book about the Hawke family’s flight from Lothering with him to his cot and began to read. Varric’s depiction of what Hawke looked like wasn’t as far off as Hawke would have had him believe. True, some of the similes were a little heavy – “Cutting through grim-faced Hurlocks like a beautiful scythe through corrupted wheat stalks”, for instance – but he could clearly picture her through this description. He had yet to see her engage in any kind of fight, but the way it was described seemed to fit her easy grace. 

When he got to the part about Carver he felt his heart clench for her. The only thing he could relate it to was Duncan and Solona and they had at least been Grey Wardens. They had known that they were there to fight darkspawn, not some untested man, barely out of boyhood. But Bethanny made it to Kirkwall with them so… what had happened to her? Did it involve the Templars? And poor Aveline, to lose her husband to the taint in that way. The witch had been right about that at least – killing him was a mercy. Alistair had seen enough of the taint to know that no one should have to suffer through that kind of death. 

He read far further into the night then he had meant to and was exhausted when he finally put aside his reading material and slept. All night he had dreams about fighting darkspawn and throwing himself in front of Hawke, shielding her from damage even as she continued to launch herself into the fight.


End file.
